Till Death Do We Part
by Cheshire Illusionist
Summary: [COMPLETE] As the son of Davy Jones, Hook has skirted his duty for hundreds of years, and now Calypso is angry. When Henry goes missing and Emma searches for him, Hook and herself fall into a portal. They end up within the depths of Davy Jones' Locker, with the rest of the Storybrooke crew not far behind, but while it's easy getting into the Locker, getting out is another story...
1. Where it all begins

**A/N: Here we go, the first chapter/prologue. _Chapters after this will be much, much longer._**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit.**

**Chapter One:**  
Where it all Begins

_Oh, I miss the comfort of this house._  
_  
Where we are, where we are._  
_  
Where we are, where we are._  
_  
The floor under our feet whispers out,_  
_  
"Come on in, come on in, __**where it all begins**__."_

A cliff overlooks an ocean, long tendrils of green grass swaying in the breeze wafting off of the crashing waves below. The sun is minutes from setting, and as it slips further down the horizon, a woman walks up to the edge of the cliff, holding the edges of her russet dress so not to trip over them.

She is followed by a young boy, perhaps no more than ten or eleven, his pale ocean blue eyes shining with delight and excitement. He skips merrily up to stand beside her and she lightly rests her arm around her shoulders.

The two stand and watch until the sun has finally fallen from the sky. Just as the last splashes of light are leaving the land, a green flash appears at the horizon, covering the ocean in a halo of green for a moment before winking out.

But now the restless seas are not empty, for a ship has appeared, its sails waving in the wind, a lone figure standing at the helm as the rest of the crew scurry around the ship. The boy smiles at the sight and hugs himself closer to his mother, and she smiles as well.

As the ship draws closer to the shoreline, the boy's smile wavers, and he looks up, brow furrowed. "What if he doesn't like me?" he asks voice quiet and questioning.

His mother looks down at her son and tousles his messy black hair. "He's your father, Killian. I don't think even a man as temperamental as Davy Jones could not love his own flesh and blood."

Killian's face brightens considerably and he skips forward a little more, teetering at the cliff's edge. Soon boats are pulled up and rowed to the shore, and for the first time, the young boy can see his father. He waves and jumps up and down eagerly, ignoring the 'calm downs' his mother is directing at him from behind.

The man standing up in one of the rowboats sees his son and looks surprised, but then overjoyed. Killian is just as happy to see his father; dark-haired just like him, with streaks of grey threading through the roots-he gets his eyes from his mother's side.

It is the first time Killian Jones sees his father, and it's also the last.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews are what feed Captain Swan-obsessed fangirls.**


	2. In My Head

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for all the favourites, follows and those reviews I received! It really makes my day. :)**

**The song for this chapter was suggested by a friend of mine - thank you, the lyrics _do_ fit. **

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit.**

**Chapter Two:  
**All the Time**  
**  
_You stayed in my head where I saw you** all the time**_  
_  
I didn't think you care, I didn't think you care_

_I found you one day with a mouth full of attitude_  
_  
And you stole me away, you stole me away_

Captain Hook's eyes snap wide open as he sits up in bed, startled. Sweat beads his forehead and chest, sticking strands of black hair to his forehead that he quickly brushes back, then rests his head in one hand. "What the bloody hell was that?" he mutters, shaking himself as if that will rid his mind of those awful images.

The tall, well-built man staggers out of bed, stumbling around in the dark until his hand finds matches and lights a lantern. He sits down on the plush velvet of the chair at his desk and rummages around in a drawer until his hand grasps cool glass. _After having a dream like that, a man bloody well needs a drink-or three-_he thinks, pouring the rum into a glass. _Why is that sea witch even bothering me now?_

_A better question_, he thinks. _Why has she ever bothered me?_

The infamous Captain of the _Jolly Roger_ struggles with nausea as he recalls the dream, the stark, vivid, frightening images haunting his mind like the miserable ghosts of his past. Not all of his dreams often make sense or are easy to remember, but any one that is sent by that awful witch seem to stick like glue.

She'd been back-the first dream since the curse had been broken-although not the first time she'd visited him. It was the dreams he hated the most, almost more than when she showed up in the form of those nasty crabs, although there was little to compare between the two. She'd-_as per bloody usual_-come to him, reminded him of his task, growing more and more angry each time he refused. He'd survived over three hundred years dealing with the nasty witch, but it never got any easier, tonight being no exception.

"Witch must have been spending time in Wonderland," he thinks aloud again, recalling her words of warning. For some strange, idiotic, and insane reason, she'd said she'd hurt someone he cared about if he didn't heed her commands. According to her, it was the Swan girl-Emma. Not that Emma wasn't an exceedingly attractive, beautiful woman, and she certainly could hold her own against him-except when he was in the business of throwing sword fights, although even then, she hadn't been able to trust him and had bloody knocked him out-but Hook's one and only love was revenge. Perhaps love was the wrong word-but then again, it had been the wrong word for a while.

After Milah, love was sort of a weird thing. He tried to pretend that it didn't exist-or pretended that it had only existed around her.

Of course, after Milah, Killian Jones was swept under the rug and Hook came out. He didn't really like Hook all the time, but Hook was who he was now, and who he would always be.

(Except when the Swan girl was being so bloody perceptive)

(But he tried not to think about that. Except when he did. Which was getting to be a problem)

Hook had had too much time lately to think about things after getting back to the Maine town from New York, after commandeering a boat at the docks and making his way up the coast, and not enough time doing anything of use. He hadn't left his ship for a few weeks, after hearing that his poison hadn't worked and it had somehow killed Cora instead-it was a good thing that Ruby girl talked so much and so loudly, or he never would have found out anything.

Now he had to watch from afar as Rumpelstiltskin worked to save his loved one's memories, and do nothing to get his revenge, because there was nothing _to_ be done.

It really just came down to the fact that Hook was out of ideas when it came to killing the Dark One.

Just then, a knock at the door to his cabin startles him out of his partially sleep, partially drink-induced stupor, and he lurches out of the chair, bracing himself against the wall for support as he goes to open the door, brushing back stray locks of his hair as he walks.

_ BANG-BANG-BANG._

The knock sounds out again, although this time Hook is more inclined to consider it as the efforts of someone trying to kick down the door-perhaps it's the crocodile, come to kill him at last. He's not entirely sure whether he'd fight back or not (He hates to admit it, but he's getting bloody tired of this crocodile not dying)

_Yes_, he decides. _It's _definitely_ the rum talking._

Because why wouldn't he kill the monster he'd been hunting for longer than he'd been aging?

So Captain Hook opens the door and is surprised to see golden blonde locks and a dark black jacket instead of a golden-handled cane and a tailored suit.

"Swan," he says, immediately going into his flirtatious mode and leaning against the doorjamb as if it's no big deal for her to be here at two in the morning while he's in nothing but a pair of leather pants, "To what do I owe the extreme _pleasure_ of your company? Couldn't resist me any longer?"

Emma frowns, but doesn't bother to make any other facial expressions (Such as rolling her eyes-Hook has noted that that's one of her favourite ones), immediately cluing him into the fact that something's wrong. She may be perceptive, but he can be just as so.

"It's Henry," Emma replies, "He's missing."

* * *

Emma watches as Hook steps to the side, waving his arm to usher in. "Rum?" he asks, not waiting for her answer as he goes over to the table and pours her a glass. "Where would your boy have gone at this time of night?"

She cautiously takes it from him as she surveys the room-of course his cabin is ridiculously extravagant, he's a pirate captain. Richly coloured velvet draperies, silk sheets on the bed (She thinks that it's silk, but she won't ask, because she knows what he'd say), a plush carpet, and a huge dark-stained oak desk. He takes a seat on the chair he had vacated a few minutes earlier and props his feet up on the desk, Emma staying standing. She puts her glass down after taking a sip, not showing how utterly disgusted she is by pirate rum.

Honestly, she thinks, drain cleaner might be a better option.

She doesn't say anything about the rum, though, because a far more pressing issue is on her mind-her son. (No, not how good the pirate might look without a shirt on. Because she's very determined to not think about that.) "I don't know. That's why I'm here?"

"Thought the boy might have come to me?" Hook asks, downing another gulp of rum, "Sadly, no. I haven't seen hide or hair of the lad, and I can't think of a reason he'd have to be wandering around the docks at night."

Emma sighs audibly, partially because of her worry, partially because even talking with the pirate Captain is so exhausting-even if he's not doing anything irritating. "I couldn't either. That's why I'm here, asking you."

He raises one eyebrow. "You think I'm a good source of information?"

Emma gives him one of her half-smiles. "Cora's _dead_, Hook. Regina doesn't go out in public. And Gold is alive and well, but _very_ distracted trying to fix the mess with Belle that _you_ created. I don't think you're a good source of information, but you're the closest thing this town has to a villain."

It's a sad thing when she can predict his smirk. "Villain, hmm? The pirate thing, _right_. Well, I'm being honest with you, love; your son hasn't been here."

Her shoulders visibly slump and she leans back against the wood panelling of the cabin, the strain of waking up in the middle of the night to find her son taking its toll. She swears under her breath.

"However," Hook says, and she's rather startled to look up and see that he's not but a few feet away from her. "Perhaps you can do me a favour and be honest with me; are you _sure_ you didn't come here for the pleasure of my company?"

Emma brushes him off. "I don't have time for this, Hook. If you don't know where Henry is then I'm going. Maybe Ruby can pick up his scent again."

"Wolf-girl. _Right_. Wait..." he begins, eyes narrowing, "the Ruby-wolf, she followed his scent here?"

She gives him a quick, short nod.

"What could your boy be doing at the docks?" he muses, frowning.

Emma watches Hook as he thinks-not because she's fascinated watching his mind at work or anything poetically ridiculous like that-but more because it's...well, weird. If she was honest with herself, Hook's portrayal in 'the real world' was pretty messed-up compared to the scruffy, charming, (and oh-so-obviously attractive-wait, she means villainous) and dangerous pirate that stands in front of her now. And it's even weirder watching him think, because, to be honest, the guy in the Disney movies was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

_ CRASH._

Emma whips her head up, refocusing her eyes just in time to see the glass of rum tumble out of Hook's good hand, shattering on the carpet in a million tiny pieces.

Her first thought is-_That'll be a mess to clean up._

Her second is-_What the hell?_

* * *

**A/N: So, how'd my pretties enjoy the second chapter? Apologies, I feel a Wicked Witch of the West mood starting...**

**Remember, reviews are food for obsessed fan-girls! :)**


	3. Pirate Hunt

**A/N: The song for this chapter is personally written by moi, Farin, and set to the tune of **_Follow the Leader_** from **_Peter Pan_**.**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit.**

**Chapter Three:  
**Pirate Hunt

_It's time to hunt a pirate,_

_A pirate,_

_A pirate,_

_It's time to hunt a pirate,_

_So let's go hunt him down!_

Ruby checks her cell for the time.

Then she checks it again.

And again.

Her eyes dart up to the clock tower, just to make sure that she hasn't got the time wrong and that maybe Emma hasn't taken longer than she said she would.

"I'll be gone ten minutes," she had said, giving Ruby a look that meant 'don't-you-dare-tell-my-parents', "I need to go check on someon-_something_."

Ruby's keen hearing obviously didn't miss the slip up, but she had pretended that nothing had happened. Of course, it was very obvious to her exactly _who_-not _what_-the daughter of her best friend was checking on, and as she checked her cell the hundredth time she was pretty much positive.

Snow had threatened to shoot him, David had threatened him with a duel, Gold had threatened him with a cane (and magic), Belle had threatened him with a bookshelf (it was less of a threat and more of an attempt at injuring him), and Emma had threatened him a good deal of times, from what Ruby has heard, but the pirate that _insisted_ he couldn't be bested had sort of a long list of people threatening him. And Ruby is more than happy to add her name to that very list, as long as it's during the full moon.

So she picks up her feet and speed-runs over to the docks, stopping a few feet away from the first line of fishing boats and other marine vehicles. Sure enough, Hook's ship glows with lights, coming from what is probably the Captain's quarters.

_ Does he want to get beaten up?_

And, more importantly, what's taking Emma so long? It's enough to even ask the pirate if he's seen Henry; after all, Ruby trusts him as far as she can throw him-well, bad example, she's pretty strong thanks to the wolf-thing-but to take twenty minutes or so doing so?

Well, he had worked with Cora in the past, and much as Emma seemed to be wary of him, Ruby could see some sort of connection between the two. Not to mention that it was only just past two in the morning and Emma was probably not entirely awake.

Ruby lets out a half-sigh, half-growl, and spins on her heels, jogging in the direction of the Charming family home. She wasn't entirely looking forward to telling her best friend, Snow White, excellent archer, and overprotective-father Prince Charming that their daughter had gone to look for her son, and was possibly being held hostage by the one and only Captain Hook, who had a vendetta against Rumpelstiltskin, who happened to be Henry's grandfather, and therefore 'the also-known-as-Killian-Jones' pirate captain might have tried to use Emma and Henry as a bargaining chip.

And it wasn't even three in the morning, for goodness sakes!

* * *

Ruby bangs on the door of the apartment and waits the necessary few minutes for the queen and her husband to get out of bed and stumble over the door. Sure enough, the two people standing in the doorway are rubbing their eyes and trying to figure out who could be knocking at this hour. David rubs his head, obviously feeling groggy, and Mary Margaret blinks a few times. "Ruby?" She says finally, her face confused. "What's wrong?"

"It's about Emma. And...this really isn't going to sound good," Ruby responds, "But please don't run out there and kill him until after I finish explaining, at least."

David's head snaps up. "Kill who? Gold? Neal?" he frowns, then his face hardens. "The pirate? It's him, isn't it? When I get my hands on that-"

Ruby avoids his gaze and explains everything in one long sentence before the prince does anything drastic. "HenrywentmissingandEmmawenttolookforhimbutIthinks hewentoaskHookifhehadtakenhimandnowshe'snotcomingb ackandthelightsareononhisshipssohemighthavecapture dherandtriedtousehertogettoGold."

Mary Margaret reaches out and puts an arm on Ruby's shoulder. "Slow down, we have time. What happened, exactly?"

Ruby's wolf hearing doesn't miss David muttering something about pirate captains running out of time because he's going to kill him, but she explains anyway, this time slowing her story down. "Emma woke up and found Henry gone, but she didn't want to disturb you two in case it was nothing serious. I was in the forest nearby-wolf thing-and smelt her, so I came and asked what she was doing. She told me the story, and I followed his scent for a while-it stopped at the docks. She asked if I could go check around Granny's and said she had to go do something-I think she went to talk to Hook; ask if he'd seen Henry,"

"And...?" Mary Margaret urges for her to continue.

"And, well, his ship had lights on and Emma's scent stopped nearby, and she was gone longer than she said she would be, so..." Ruby finishes, trailing off at the end.

"So you think he might have captured both of them, because he knows that Henry is Gold's grandson." David states, clenching his fists. "That's it; we're going to go on a pirate hunt."

Instead of calming her husband like Ruby expects her too, Mary Margaret nods. "I'll go get my bow."

**A/N: There you go, the Charmings and a Werewolf are going on a pirate hunt. **

**_Hope_**** you enjoyed, and, as per usual, feed the obsessed fangirl with reviews!**


	4. All Alone (Run, Run, Run Away)

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit.**

**Chapter Three:  
**All Alone (Run, Run, Run Away)

_Run, run, run and hide_

_Somewhere no one else can find_

_Tall trees bend and lean pointing where to go_

_Where you will still be__** all alone**_

_Run fast as you can_

**_Run, Run, Run Away_**

_Run, Run, Run Away_

_ Catcalls and rowdy laughter sound out from the cramped space of a portside village tavern, men sitting in chairs and clinking glasses of ale. A teenage Killian Jones sits at a bar, nursing a glass of rum and regaling a pretty blonde girl from the village with stories of his father's adventures. He's only met him the one time, six years before, but his mother has told him much as well. _

_ "Has he really been to all those realms?" the girl asks, resting one arm on the bar counter as she looks at him with big blue eyes._

_ Killian nods, taking a gulp of rum. He leans back. "Oh yeah, he's been everywhere! Someday I'd like to do that...sail the lands, travel. See new things. Have adventures, y'know?" _

_ His hopes to find a person that understands his dreams would have been dashed if he'd noticed that the rosy-pink lipped smile she gives him is nowhere near being genuine, but Killian is already half-drunk to care. "Oh, of_ course!_ You'd bring me with you, wouldn't you?"_

_ The teenage boy flashes her with a wide, flirtatious grin, the type that has all the other girls in the village swooning over him. He's only sixteen but is already incredibly handsome-bright eyes, dark hair, a signature smirk. "Why wouldn't I, darling? Oh, yeah, I'll travel everywhere, go to every realm. I'll have my own ship," – _

_ "KILLIAN JONES!" His words are cut off by a sharp shout emanating from the entrance to the tavern. Killian spins around in his chair to be assaulted with the sight of his forty-something mother standing in the doorway, hands on hips, a sharp glare on her face. _

_ The boy spins around to look at the girl he'd been talking to a few moments before, but she'd slipped off. He turns back only to have a calloused, work-worn hand grip his arm and drag him out of the bar, hoots and shouts of 'Momma's boy' trailing in his wake. _

_ As soon as they're outside and out of out sight Killian rounds on his mother, eyes blazing with the fury teenagers emit oh-so-well. "What the hell was that?" he snaps._

_ "Language, Killian! And hush your voice, no need to display your business to everyone." His mother chastises._

_ He rolls his eyes, "As if you didn't just do that. I'm practically an adult, and you just walked in there screaming at me!"_

_ Immediately her face darkens, and she looks down, wringing her hands and adjusting her modest, sensible dress._

_ "Mother...?" Killian begins, looking at her curiously. She looks back up at him, and he's surprised to see her eyes glazed over with tears, "Mother, what happened?"_

_ She brushes him away and starts to turn, as if to leave, "It's nothing, Killian, my son. You're right, you're practically an adult now. There's no reason for me to bother you with this."_

_ "Tell me."_

_ "Killian..."_

_ He curses. She's too distraught to reprimand him. "_Tell me!_" he screams._

_ "_Your father is dead!_" his mother continues, even as a look of shock hits Killian's face, "Your father is dead, he died, someone ripped out his heart, he's dead, and you can't come back from death, not even when you were the caretaker of them, no you can't. See, see what you've done?"_

_ Killian stumbles backward, hitting the brick wall of the tavern behind him. "What I've done...?" he asks, voice wavering on the edge of fear._

_ "Yes, you!" she screams, eyes brimming with tears, "Because you're his son, and Calypso needs a heir to fill his role! Do his job! She's going to take you away from me, take you to the locker and enslave you for eternity, and it's your fault, because now I'm going to lose you! Okay?_ Okay?_ Are you happy now? I told you!"_

_ "Dad...dad is dead? Dead...?"_

_ "Dead! Gone! He's never coming back. I was a fool to fall in love with a man such as Davy Jones, my mother said it herself. '_Don't go running off with that man, Wendy Darling,_' she said, '_He'll only bring you pain, he doesn't love you, he loves her_,' she said. And now she's dead, and he's dead, and Calypso is going to take you away too." His mother crumples to the ground and clutches her head in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably._

_ Killian tentatively reaches out to touch her arm, and his mother looks up at him, eyes alight with fury and pain. It is only then that he notices the grey streaking through her russet hair, only then that he sees the fatigue in her eyes and the wrinkles forming on her hands. "Who's...who's Calypso?" he asks._

_ "Sea goddess._ Witch._ She'll take you, take you and not bring you back..." his mother mumbles something under her breath, hanging her head, "Run, Killian."_

_ "What?"_

_ She looks up, and this is the last time Killian sees his mother. "She'll take you, Killian, so_ **run.**_ Run, and _don't look back_."_

_ He staggers a few feet back in shock before turning around and dashing off down the street, toward the docks, leaving behind the haunting echoes of his mother's silent tears as tears of his own stream down his face._

* * *

Emma stares at Hook as he stands there, his now-empty hand still formed as if it was clutching the glass-which is on the floor, scattered around like crystalline diamonds. He moves, slightly; his head looks down, and then up at her, pale blue eyes meeting her own hazel ones. "Emma?" he asks, wide-eyed.

_ It's the first time he's called me anything other than 'Swan', _she thinks. She take an angry step forward, walls firmly in place and heavily barricaded. "What the hell is going on?"

"Emma..." Hook begins, but she cuts him off furiously.

"I asked you a question, _Hook_. _What the _hell_ is going on_?" Emma says her voice full of anger, practically yelling. "Did you take Henry? Is this part of some sick, twisted, plan to get at your 'crocodile'? Because I can tell you, you say that you're nothing like him, but he's just the same, always plotting, always manipulating."

"Em-_Swan_, I didn't..."

"Didn't _what_? I swear if you hurt Henry you won't even have a life _left_ to regret!" Emma

Hook takes a step forward-No longer Killian, but Hook-until he's right in her face. "I _didn't_ take your son! I have _no_ idea where he is. And I'm _not_ like that _bloody_ _beast!_"

Suddenly he notices a change in her face-_fear_-and realizes that his hook had come to rest at her neck. He looks at it, and, as if startled by the fact that he's seeing metal instead of flesh, stumbles back, clutching the bedpost for support and cursing under his breath. "Swan..."

Now that the threat is gone; Emma's anger replaces her fright. She grabs the captain by the lapels of his coat and yanks him up until he's facing her. "You'd better give me an answer, Hook, because if you know _anything_ about my son-Oh, what the hell, if there's anything you're not telling me in general, _spit it out_."

He mumbles something, but she can't hear. "What?"

He says it again. "_Calypso_,"

"Calypso? As in, _Pirates of the Caribbean_, Jack Sparrow, sea goddess, _Calypso_?" Emma says, looking incredulous. "Oh, please don't tell me he's your distant cousin or something."

"I don't know who bloody Jack Sparrow is, but I can assure you, love, that Calypso is very real, and she's no _cousin_ of mine." Hook replies, straightening himself until he's standing firmly on the ground again.

"Okay," Emma gives him a confused look, "Okay, so _Calypso_ is real, along with Cinderella, and Captain Hook, and Doctor Freakin' _Frankenstein_...what does that have to do with Henry?"

Hook doesn't comment, just turns and goes over to his desk, where the bottle of rum still sits. "I need a drink," he mutters, "More than one, probably."

A hand reaches out and grabs the bottle before he can. Emma holds it above her head. "No rum, not until you give me some answers!"

Hook sighs and rolls his head back, staring up at the ceiling, then yanks the bottle out of her hand-he is taller than her, after all. "Trust me, love, you need rum for this story."

* * *

"Judging by the baffled look on your face, love, Calypso is also a 'commodity' in your world?" Hook begins, pouring himself a glass of rum. Emma rolls her eyes but doesn't comment (He's a pirate; she'd be more surprised if he _didn't_ have rum-her attempt at talking to him when he wasn't drunk had pretty much failed before she even tried it).

"She's a character in a movie."

"...Movie?"

Emma gestures randomly to the side. "Moving pictures, magic box, whatever you want to call it."

Hook is briefly reminded of seeing such a thing around town. "What is she like in this..._movie_?"

"Scary?" Emma shrugs. "Some woman that lives in a swamp and casts spells. She gives out jars of dirt. I haven't seen it since I was a lot younger, really, I can't remember."

"Dirt?"

"Uh-huh."

"Much like your rendition of the beanstalk story, it sounds much more delightful than the real one."

Emma decides not to comment on the fact that the idea of Snow White trying to kill bluebirds with a broom (She had read _some_ of the ridiculous book) was pretty weird in its own right, and that the Mad Hatter was also a psycho kidnapper...well, it was best not to think about it for too long. "What's the real story, then?"

Hook takes another swig of rum, and then sets the glass down as he leans against the desk. "Calypso, the most irritating sea goddess known to man gave my father the job of ferrying souls to the next world. Short to say, his heart was ripped out, he died, and the job passed on to me, being his heir. I ran from Calypso and refused to do my job, and I've been running ever since."

Emma tilts her head. "Your..._father_?"

"Yes, love, that's why the task was given to me. I was his only son."

Emma does not like where this is going-she remembers quite enough of those _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movies to know that the only person ever 'tasked' with such a job by Calypso was a guy with tentacles for a beard, who ruled over a ship of fish people. "Killia-_Hook_," – she stops herself before she says his first name, suddenly recalling what last name was paired with that. "Killian _Jones_?"

Hook downs the rest of his rum. "That _is_ my name, lass, don't overuse it."

"Hook..." Emma begins, "What was your father's first name?"

"David- Davy, really. What's it matter?" Hook raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, _hell_," Emma mutters.

It seems Hook can't resist one of his comments-although at this point, Emma can't tell whether it's a genuine comment or an attempt at being annoying. "Actually, they called it Davy Jones' Locker, but that's pretty accurate too."

"Oh, _hell_." Emma repeats. "Your father is Davy Jones, and Calypso now wants you to go ferry souls to the Locker or the Underworld or whatever the hell you call it?"

"I knew you were a smart lass," Hook replies nonchalantly.

Emma straightens herself from her position leaning against the wall and takes a careful step towards the pirate Captain. "What does any of that have to do with _my son_?"

Hook realizes then that he really can't tell her without things getting awkward, and much as he loves the blush that creeps up the back of her neck, or the continuous eye rolling she gives him when he's embarrassed, somehow he doesn't think that she'd take kindly to the fact that Calypso _might have_ taken her son to get to her, and therefore him. "Well, love..." he begins, trying to draw out the conversation, hoping that something will interrupt them (At this point, an angry Prince Charming might actually be preferable).

"Hook," Emma glares at him, "What does _Calypso_ have to do with _my son_?"

And then he gets the interruption he wanted-all of a sudden, the lights on the ship wink out and everything is plunged into total blackness. Hook stumbles forward, catching himself on the bedpost as the ship starts to rock wildly. The sound of glass shattering and books falling of shelves sounds out. "_HOOK_, what the _HELL_ is going-?" a female scream comes from nearby, and a warm body falls into his arms.

* * *

**A/N: *Insert Dramatic Music*. Are you scared yet? _Should_ you be scared?**

**See that box there? It's calling your name, yes, yes it is. **


	5. All the Fighters

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit.**

**Chapter Five:**  
All the Fighters

_For all the lovers and believers_

_and the ones who've been betrayed,_

_for **all the fighters**, all the dreamers_

_and the ones who've not been saved,_

_for all the lovers and believers_

_and the ones who've not been heard._

Snow White, Prince Charming and Red Riding Hood rush down the main street of Storybrooke, the sound of their shoes hitting pavement the only audible sound in the otherwise still night. The street is quiet and dark, with few streetlights lighting up anything, and the usually comforting glow coming from Granny's is nonexistent.

"I think I can smell her scent!" Ruby says, quickening her pace.

David frowns and the three push on, finally coming to a halt at the docks to see the same sight Ruby had described-The Jolly Roger, with a warm glow radiating from underneath the quarterdeck-presumably the captain's quarters-at the stern of the ship, "Just as I left it," Ruby comments.

But this is not what stops them in their tracks-for, right above the ship, a huge storm is brewing, raging, dark clouds swirling above the water and obscuring the delicate shine of the stars and moon. Lightning flashes in the clouds, pure white, bright, and brilliant, illuminating the churning waters of the ocean below.

"Ruby..." Mary Margaret begins, "Was that storm there before?"

The only signal the wolf girl can give that she's heard her friend's question is a short, quick, shake of her head. She goes a few cautious feet forward, as if the woman hailing from a land of magic can't believe the sight she's seeing-it's the strangest thing next to when the big cloud of purple magic swept through the town after the breaking of the curse.

Just then there's a loud _BOOM_. The lights on the Jolly Roger flash once, and then disappear. The ship is shrouded in darkness. "EMMA!" Mary Margaret screams, trying to run, but David holds her back.

Waves crash, roaring, and start to twist and turn underneath the great ship as it rocks to-and-fro. A whirlpool forms, and the three can only watch and hear the screams of the wind as the Jolly Roger is swallowed by the ocean, falling into the deep whirlpool.

And then the seas are calm, and the only sound that can be heard is the sound of the Saviour's mother screaming her husband to let her go. "We'll get her back!" he tells her, finally pulling her back and hugging her to his chest. "I promise you, Snow, we will get her back."

"She's my daughter..." Mary Margaret says softly, her voice wavering.

Ruby stands there feeling helpless, because even the strength and enhanced senses her wolf-side gives her can do nothing now. So she stands there, her face grim. "We will find her, Snow," she says, giving David a smile.

"How do you know that?" Mary Margaret asks, lifting her head slightly, "I lost her to the curse, lost her to her own pain, and I almost lost her back in our land too."

Ruby responds in just the way that anyone having known the Charmings for many years would, "Because people in your family _always_ find each other,"

David nods, and at this, Mary Margert straightens somewhat, still in her husband's arms, but her mind now set in Snow-White-Mode. "You're right, Ruby. We _will_ get Emma back, and I don't care if we figure out where a three-hundred-year-old pirate would have taken her to do it."

* * *

The first thing Emma is aware of when she slowly comes to is the stifling heat of the room, pressing against her skin like a thick, suffocating, sticky layer of sheets. It's quite different than the cool, light humidity and faint breeze that typically accompanies the Storybrooke air, so Emma knows that wherever she is-she's not quite ready to open her eyes yet, her mind is still waking up-it's not the small seaside town.

The second thing she is aware of is related to her current location-the situation, or rather, the _person_ that got her in this mess. Whatever happened after the lights went out and Emma fell forward, banging her head on a cupboard is a mystery to her.

Emma slowly blinks open her eyes, taking in the harsh, blinding rays of sunlight emanating from the great paned windows at the far end of the cabin. They light up every surface, basking the room in a warm, if somewhat brilliant glow. She rubs her eyes, trying to get them to adjust the abrupt change in lighting-after all; it had been very, very, very early morning back in Storybrooke-and tries to figure out her surroundings.

She makes an attempt at sitting up, only to realize that part of the warmth of the room is not coming from the sun blasting in through the windows, but the heat coming from the person she's lying on top of-wrapped in the arms of, actually.

Hook.

Emma silently thinks of a good many insults she'd like to throw at the pirate, but as she pries his arms off from around her shoulders and waist, she realizes that he's unconscious-dead to the world. In other circumstances that would be a rather pleasant thing, to be honest, as there's only so much innuendo and flirtatious comments a person can take before they get fed up with a certain pirate, but right now she's rather interested in finding out what the hell is going on. Seeing as how this is his ship, it's pretty likely that he'd know.

Not that she's looking forward to the idea of interrogating Hook-it's been irritating in the past-but she's rather curious...well, judging by the looks of her awkward entanglement in his arms, the pirate captain had tried to protect her when stuff started flying off the shelves. They both were knocked out anyway, though.

As Emma is musing over her current situation, the body lying on the ground beside her starts to shift, and a groggy, unintelligible stream of mumblings-most likely curses, knowing Hook-comes from his prone form. His pale blue eyes flicker twice, and then open fully, staring at his surroundings. His gaze immediately darts over to Emma. "The lovely feeling of waking up with a woman in my arms," he says, looking intently at her, "Are you growing to enjoy my scintillating company, Swan?"

Emma quickly hops up, but not fast or un-awkwardly enough to prevent him from noticing how she was slightly flustered. "Not the time, Hook," she snaps back.

He sits up, rubbing the back of his head where it hit the floor, and then dusting off his pants as he slowly stands up. Emma realizes then that he's still shirtless. Joy. She's rather grateful that she hadn't been aware of that particular detail when they'd been lying on the floor. Hook stretches and yawns, "It's always the time, love," he says, winking.

Emma doesn't even grace him with an eye-roll. "Where the hell are we? Did you cause this?"

Hook walks over to a trunk bolted onto the floor in front of the bed and yanks out one of his black shirts. He languidly pulls it over his head, stretching and showing off his toned-albeit scarred-chest again as he does so, and Emma is ashamed to find herself staring for a split second. "Like what you see?" he asks, then, not waiting for an answer, snickers.

She looks away, then, back at his face, growing tired of his immaturity. "What the hell happened? You better have a _really_ good explanation."

Hook gently probes a fresh bruise on his forehead, but to his credit does not grimace. "That, Swan, was the wrath of an exceedingly angry sea goddess. And, judging by the look of the land outside," he says, strolling over to the windows and cracking them open, "We're in Davy Jones' Locker."

Emma's eyes widen. "Davy Jones' Locker? You're telling me that your evil sea witch friend or whatever dropped your ship into a land that your dad used to store dead bodies?"

Just her luck, really. She's stuck in a land she knows nothing about-much like when she arrived in the Enchanted Forest-with a pirate that she _wishes_ she knew less about, and her son is still missing. Oh, and her newfound family happens to be back in Storybrooke.

Emma is really starting to consider the idea that she's just a character in some dramatic network TV show being controlled by a team of writers and producers.

Which would be ridiculous, of course, because living in a town where all the nuns are actually fairies that happen to wear jellyfish for dresses isn't weird enough.

_ I'd really like to see the bright side of this situation_, Emma thinks to herself, _but somehow the only good thing I think about this is the fact that at least those puppets from Gold's shop aren't here. _Rumpelstiltskin's_ shop. Whatever._

It doesn't take much for her to admit that she's pretty sick of fairytale characters, and so the daughter of two very famous fairytale characters decides to go up on deck and survey the land while Captain Guy-liner finishes making himself look pretty again.

* * *

**A/N: If you've seen it, imagine I'm the giant plant from****_ Little Shop of Horrors_****:**

_**FEED ME! FEED ME! FEED ME WITH REVIEWS!**_


	6. Happy Together

**MY MY,_ thank you_ for all the support in reviews, faves and follows!**

**The song and title for this chapter are actually somewhat sarcastic - you'll understand when you read Hook and Emma's interaction. :D**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddie Kitsis n' the rest of the ABC/Disney gang don't kill me if I do drastic things. You never know.**

**Chapter Six:  
**Happy Together

_Me and you and you and me_

_No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be_

_The only one for me is you, and you for me_

_So **happy together**_

_We're happy together_

_So happy together_

Sharp rays of sun beat relentlessly down on the wooden boards forming the deck of the _Jolly Roger_. The ship's crisp white sails are practically translucent in the sheer power of the sunlight. Emma walks out onto the main deck and goes to the railing, resting her arms against it as she surveys the land around her.

Dusty, arid mountains of pearly white sand surround the ship for as far as the eye can see. No trees, no bushes, nothing, although there's an occasional cluster of dark volcanic rocks here and there. Other than that, the Locker is a barren wasteland, without any true colour-even the sky is such a pale blue that it can hardly be called a colour at all.

_ Somehow thought the place for lost souls would be a little more ominous,_ Emma thought,_ if this is the land Hook's supposed to send people to, I pity his luck._

All the same, Emma pities herself a little bit too, because she's the person _stuck_ with a pirate as annoying as hell in this forsaken desert. To add to her ever-growing list of things she really doesn't like about magic and fairytales, it's now deserts-and, most likely, Aladdin too. If he's kicking around somewhere in Storybrooke, Emma plans to make Mary-Margaret and David agree _not_ to take a family vacation to Agrabah any time soon. Not that deserts actually has much to do with magic, but she's too irritated to care right now.

Without further contemplation on the aggravation of being stuck in this land, Emma grabs a rope hanging over the side of the ship and swings herself down. She's going to find a way out of here, _because I'm not going to spend another minute listen to Captain Hook's shameless flirting._

She always liked Peter Pan more, anyway.

Of course, the Captain Hook of those stories was a curly-bearded, ridiculously idiotic, well, _idiot_, while the one hailing from the Enchanted Forest is definitely a little easier on the eyes.

However, their idiocy is comparable.

When Hook comes out onto the deck not too longer later, he is greeted with the sight of a very angry Emma Swan stomping around in the sand and grumbling incoherently to herself. He's more aware of the warmth of the Locker now and is grateful to have worn a loose-fitting black shirt instead of his typical jacket and vest.

"Lass, much as it's a pleasant sight to see you so worked up, I doubt very much that doing so will help us in any way-however, if you'd like to put that energy into more enjoyable activities..." he calls out to her teasingly, leaning languidly against the railing.

Emma stops her ranting for a moment and spins around to face him. "I'm trying to get us out of here!"

He cocks one eyebrow and looks at her questioningly. "Your solution is to run around madly? Swan, this is the Locker, not Wonderland."

"And aren't I glad to be in your company instead of a psycho kidnapper's," Emma crosses her arms.

Hook doesn't understand what she's referring to, but provides her with an infuriating smirk.

Emma realizes what she had implied about his company and glares back up at him. "And that was _SARCASM_!"

"Keep telling yourself that, love,"

To her credit, the 'Swan girl' doesn't grace him with a response and goes back to wandering aimlessly around the sand. Hook catches a few words, like 'stupid pirate' and 'stupid magic'.

"Love," he finally says, "What exactly is your plan?"

"To get out of here! With me son, my sanity intact, and possibly the corpse of a certain pirate captain!"

"Sounds wonderful. However, do you know _how_ you're going to go about doing that?" he replies, and is rewarded with a _THUMP_.

Hook looks over the side of the ship to see Emma punching the Jolly Roger's hull angrily. "Love, you don't want to do that,"

Emma looks up. "I'm pretty darn positive I _do_." she says, although rubs her knuckles rather gingerly.

"No you really don't – we'll be needing her to get ot the ocen."

"There's no freaking ocean here, Hook."

"Actually, love, there is."

There's no sound for a few moments, then; "_What_ ocean?" Emma snaps.

Hook points west, in the direction that the bow of the ship is facing. "_That_ one."

Emma's cursing can be heard for miles.

* * *

Emma shimmies up the rope to get back on the ship, reluctantly taking Hook's offered hand to help her onboard – she hasn't had the need to climb ropes since elementary gymnastics.

"Hook, I know you're just a simple pirate, but I think it's pretty obvious that ships sail on _water_, not _sand_." Emma says rather condescendingly.

"Indeed they do."

She looks at him and then gestures to the earth surrounding the ship. "Then what's your marvelous plan to get us there?"

Hook grins rakishly. "Magic."

"Did I end up in the Locker with Rumpelstiltskin instead of Captain Hook?"

He growls. "Do _not_ speak that crocodile's name."

Emma ignores him. "Then what's your master plan? Do you even have a plan?"

"A pirate _always_ has a plan," is his only response.

* * *

Back in Storybrooke, Mary Margaret, David, and the others have stayed up all night planning.

"We still don't know where the portal could have led to!" Mary Margaret says rather loudly, having only slept a few hours and still very worried about Emma.

"What about Doctor-Dead-Bodies' land?" Leroy mutters, nodding towards Doctor Whale, who is sitting uncomfortably on the edge of his seat in the booth as Ruby brings over another round of coffee to everyone. No one was really happy with the idea of him helping out in the rescue mission – especially David – but Ruby wanted to bring him and Mary Margaret wouldn't disagree with her oldest friend.

Mother Superior shakes her head. "Not possible-portals have to open to lands without magic, and it's very unlikely that after the curse struck any magic would have been left in a land with little of it in the first place."

David throws up his hands. "Where, then? Neverland?"

"Hook wouldn't take Emma and Henry there. It's too predictable, he spent three centuries there."

"That's cheering," David grumbles, "The pirate that has an infatuation with my daughter is practically the same age as The Dark One."

"Older, ac," -

"Wait!" Mary Margaret says, frowning. "Gold. He'd know."

Leroy sighs, "You plan on dealing with him? I saw where that got you _last_ time."

"I know he did some bad things in the past," David says, slowly, "But he _is_ family now – Henry is his grandson. He'll help."

Ruby shakes her head. "He hates Hook."

"He'll have to put aside that feud for another day," David says, standing up and then grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, "Because I'm not going to leave that shop without a way of helping Emma."

* * *

"Gold!" David calls out, walking briskly into the pawn shop. The bell above the door jingles as he is followed by Mary Margaret, Ruby and Leroy. "Where the hell are you?"

The sound of a cane tapping lightly on wood sounds out from the back and the pawnbroker walks slowly out of the back room. "You sound more like your daughter every day. Speaking of, where is the lovely Miss Swan?"

"I think you know, Gold."

"Do I?" Gold lifts his head, as if in contemplation, "Ah, yes, taken through a portal to another realm by a pirate. Sounds rather like a fairytale parody, wouldn't you say?"

Mary Margaret steps forward. "You know more about magic then we do. If anyone knows where the portal took them, it's you."

Gold's mouth quirks a little bit at that. "I see, resorting to consulting the great Dark One when your beloved daughter and grandson goes missing, because not even the pitiful fairies can help you."

"He's your grandson too," David says sternly. "And you're going to help us."

"I don't see that in the cards. What interest would I have in bringing the man that wants my death back from another realm? The way I see it, he's done us all a favour." Gold replies.

"By taking my daughter?" Mary Margaret snaps.

Leroy speaks up from the back, "Listen to him! He's not going to help."

"The dwarf knows what he's talking about, Miss Blanchard. I'd take his advice."

"Here's some advice, Gold: You help us get our daughter back, and you'll do it not out of the goodness of whatever heart you have left, but because we're family now, and family helps each other."

"Family is a funny thing. I told your daughter once; those closest to us are capable of causing us the most pain," Gold waves one hand and gestures to the whole of the shop. "See where family got me? I have all these useless trinkets, but every time I try to help anyone that calls themselves 'family', bad things happen."

"And what does that matter now?"

Gold looks back to David. "I've said it many a time – magic always comes with a price. Even if I could find out where they were taken to, there would be a cost."

Ruby frowns, finally speaking up. "You don't know?"

"Ah, dearie, I know much, but I cannot see everything. Whatever realm that ship has appeared in is beyond my reach."

The five are so very caught up in their tense discussion that no one notices when the bell above the door jingles. "The Locker," a voice says from behind them, and everyone turns to see who just walked in.

"What?" Leroy asks.

"Davy Jones' Locker," Neal Cassidy answers, "They went to Davy Jones' Locker."

* * *

**A/N: OOOOooOOOoOOoooh _HOW DOES HE KNOW_?**

**Now...perhaps I'm a review-vampire. A reviewpire? A vamview? Okay, whatever it is, I eat reviews for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Not to mention that I love getting feedback.**

**And you wouldn't starve a reviewpire, would you? **


	7. Nothing Left to Prove

**THANK YOU for all the feedback, and follows n' faves! I say this again, but it really does mean a lot. :)**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddie Kitsis n' the rest of the ABC/Disney gang don't kill me if I do drastic things. You never know.**

**Chapter Seven:  
**Nothing Left to Prove

_Who, who are you really?_

_And where are you going?_

_I've got __**nothing left to prove**_

_Cause I've got nothing left to lose_

_See me there waiting for you_

_Who, who are you?_

* * *

He wasn't sure how, but he'd found his way, to, of all places, _Neverland_. It was bright and exciting and new, so different from the war-torn plains of the Enchanted Forest-after the ogres arrived not long before he was born, life there was never peaceful. Neverland, though...Neverland was like a bright burst of tropical sunlight amidst a day of rain and gloom; a child's paradise. Not that Killian was a child any more, but he was young enough to be able to appreciate the lands.

And, as he learned quickly, the land did not lack in sights to see-magic, adventure. Everything a boy could ever dream of seeing, and enough time to do everything they want to-after all, Neverland was the land where you never grew up.

The first few days on the island had been tough, tougher than one would expect of a land full of such magic and curiosity, but not as bad as Killian would have expected. He ate fruit off trees and lay on a grassy hill at night, watching the stars, naming them. He'd been taught by his father to use the stars as guidance, should he ever become lost, and even now, knowing that Davy Jones was dead and gone, he kept with the tradition. A particularly bright star stood out to him, and he remembered it, keeping the image in his mind.

Not long later, a band of six wild, adventure-craving boys happened upon Killian and invited him-even though he was somewhat older than the oldest of them-to join their group. They'd been living in a cave underground, and quickly introduced Killian to the ways of the island.

"Those there are the mermaids, see?" One of them, Nibs, says, pointing above the rocks.

The seven of them are crouched down behind some rocks, watching the fish-girls swim in the lazy waters of Mermaid's Lagoon, the iridescent scales on their fins sparkling in the brief snatches of sunlight. One with vivid red hair caught his eye, the crimson strands seeming as if they were on fire.

"Are they...uh, pleasant?" Killian asks.

'Ace' speaks up. "Pleasant 's a good word for it. Bite yer ear off, if they could. Either that or they'd talk it off."

Curly nods. "That's all they do, talk and talk and talk. They don't like much of anyone."

Killian turns his gaze back to the mermaids. "Maybe they're just waiting for the right person to talk to. Someone that will understand them." He's preaching his own thoughts, but the others don't notice.

"Or maybe they just wanna drown ya." Ace reminds him. "C'mon, I'm bored. Let's go see the fairies!"

And so they did, scampering away from the lagoon and going off to Pixie Hollow.

That was another thing about the island, Killian found-it didn't just have mermaids, it had the Neverbird and beasts and a bucket of other creatures-_fairies_, even. They were tiny little things-although apparently could also turn big, not that they did very often-and were very protective of their fairy dust.

But they seemed to like the Lost Boys, and one of them took a shine to Killian – although had a bit of a temper. The two got along fairly well, though.

Even through all this, though, Killian missed his mother. Neverland had a way of making you forget things, but he never forgot her, even if the image of her face faded slightly when the Lost Boys were in the midst of battle or playing games. But during the quiet times, during those sleepless nights, his mind was plagued by images of her tear-streaked face, her pleading for him to run.

And so she stuck with him, although with her hurried warning about the sea goddess Calypso. Apparently even the witch's power didn't reach into Neverland, though, so there was some peace in that knowledge.

The other boys would have laughed at him for mentioning his mother-he did once, and they all scoffed, because they were all orphans, and they didn't remember anything about their family. Slightly said he did, but Killian was pretty sure he was faking. For such a close-knit group of boys, all of them were guarded, too, even if it was hidden under their lackadaisical personalities.

Of course, Killian could only tell because he'd seen the same thing when he looked in the mirror – the look you get when you've been left alone.

That was what finally triggered it, one day. He didn't know how long he'd been gone – hell, he'd half-forgotten that he hadn't always lived there – but it was then, looking into a pool, when he'd seen his own reflection, seen that look, and knew that he had to go back.

None of them would have liked it-Killian, one of their closest pals, just leaving up and out of the blue? They were still kids, and much as Killian was only sixteen in appearances, he'd had a good two years to grow in maturity, while the oldest of the lost boys was approximately fourteen. And so, tonight, he would sneak away to Pixie Hollow and steal their pixie dust in order to leave Neverland.

Killian didn't want to betray his best friends, his comrades. But he needed to see his mother. Needed to know that she was okay.

Because if she wasn't, he knew that it would probably be his fault.

* * *

Bare feet slapping the softy ground underfoot, Killian jogged through the Neverland forest, brushing aside clawing branches and dew-covered leaves as he ran. He didn't have much time; the other Lost Boys were sleeping, but they were known for being light sleepers – after all, they had to be ready to defend their home – and if they found him to be gone they'd be searching in a flash. Firstly because the land wasn't safe and there had been _incidents_ in the past (usually with mermaids or vengeful fairies), and secondly because he was still somewhat new to the land, so they didn't entirely trust him.

Trust was becoming awfully difficult to acquire these days.

So he ran, and he ran fast. Pixie Hollow wasn't too far West from their underground home, and not as far as Skull Rock to the East or Cannibal Cove to the South, but it was still fairly far. Seeing as how he only had so much time to get there and get out with the pixie dust...well, it was best to not chance things.

His cloth satchel bumped against his legs as he ran, only packed with fruit, a hunting knife, and a bottle for the pixie dust. He couldn't afford to bring much – it would only weigh him down.

Finally the glittering lights of the Hollow came into view._ 'Bout time_, Killian thought, _and I thought running for my life from a band of very angry Neverlandians was tiring. This is hell. Thank goodness the pixies are really, really heavy sleepers. I think._

He knew that the pixie dust was often stored in the gigantic tree that was their home, which made things just perfect, because _now I have to creep past a bunch of pixies and hope that they don't wake up and kill me._

Upon entering the large, coniferous structure that was their home, Killian was greeted with the sight of...nothing. No sleeping fairies, no pixie dust. _Must be kept at the top or something_, he thought, _and who knew that fairies didn't sleep?_ He thought they did. _Eh, Curly never was adept at explaining things._

He briefly considered what would happen should anyone find him stealing the dust. Banishment? Death? Curses? The pixies were fairly docile if you didn't bother them, but if you did they were quite a lot more vicious than the good-natured, if somewhat manipulative fairies of the Enchanted Forest. The worst of it all, was, though, the pixies here liked him. _Really_ liked him. Fawned-over-him-liked-him. It would have been really weird if they weren't also only a few inches tall most of the time, because a bunch of human-sized, big-eyed, sparkly things making lustful doe eyes at him and batting their lashes? Not exactly as fun.

Not that Killian would deny that it was sorta fun to have a bunch of girls obsessed with him.

(He was still sixteen in maturity, after all)

One foot after the other, Killian scurried up the stairs to the top of the tree, not stopping at any of the multiple landings to look around.

_ So this is where they hide their cache of dust_, Killian silently laughed as he reached the treetop atrium, greeted with the sight of hundreds of bags of the sparkly, incredibly volatile dust. _No wonder they're so covered in it all the time. Wonder if they bathe in it or something. _

Without any further thought, the boy took the flask out of his bag and untied the drawstrings of one of the bags, then very carefully reached in with the vial and scooped some out. He was careful not to let the stuff touch his skin – he couldn't do that quite yet, no - and after filling it completely, resealed the vial. The dust was precious; if he didn't have enough, he'd run out mid-journey and suffer a rather unpleasant fall to his doom.

Really, really hoping that this wasn't one of Nibs' tall tales, Killian clambered the rest of the way up the tree, using branches and knots for support. His bag swung around wildly but the vial was secured and didn't fall out.

"A little freakier than it looks from below," he muttered to himself, finally having reached the uppermost branches. The moon shone bright and full that night, illuminating all the lands and reflecting off the deep blue of the ocean. Neverland was a beautiful sight by day and even more amazing by night.

He didn't want to leave.

_ Grow up, Killian;_ he thought angrily, mentally smacking himself upside the head, _you can't be young forever. _

He wanted to, though. Never grow up. What would that be like? To never have to worry about anything, never have responsibilities, to live a life of freedom... yet, even then, he was aware that he would always have responsibilities, because the baggage he'd brought couldn't be forgotten. With baggage came problems, and with problems came responsibility to fix them. It was a rather mature thought for his age, but...maybe Neverland didn't work its charms on him as well as it did others.

So he had to – grow up, that is.

With a bated breath, Killian uncorked the vial and poured some of the substance into the palm of his hand. _Belief_, the pixies had said, belief in the impossible, belief in magic, it was everything. He'd said back then that just because you believed in something didn't make it true – but after seeing the whole of Neverland, he knew it was just the opposite.

Mumbling under his breath about how he had to sprinkle gold dust on his head and it wasn't a very manly thing to do, Killian did just so.

And he waited.

And he waited.

Thought it was sorta instantaneous, he thought, pixie dust plus belief equals boom, flying.

Apparently not.

Why wasn't it working?

Then, Killian remembered – to use magic, you had to remember what you were using it for. Who you were helping, what it meant to you. Magic was about emotion.

That did it – ever so slightly, then more assuredly, he rose off the ground. Killian tested his ability to move around at first, going up, down, left and right.

"Starting to like the dust a little bit more now," he said aloud, laughing slightly as he soared above the treetops, "Second star to the right it is, then."

Just as he was about to head on his way – flying to a star-portal, no matter how ridiculous the notion was – a voice rang out on the night-time air.

"Killian!"

He looked around him, confused, until his gaze finally rested on a figure clad in bright green standing on a balcony of the tree.

Tinker bell?

"Killian!" she called again, waving her arms – the small pixie had been taken off flying privileges for misbehaviour recently, and couldn't follow after him, "Come back! Where are you going?"

"I need to go home!" Killian replied.

Even from this height, he could tell that she was confused, "This is your home!"

He shook his head, sadly, and turned around.

Killian wanted Neverland to be his home. He wanted so very much to go back there and say yes, he was staying, staying with his best friends and the pixies and oh, even those blasted mermaids. As long as he didn't have to grow up.

But as the shouts of his name faded into the distance, Killian blocked those thoughts from his mind.

He couldn't be a child anymore.

* * *

**A/N: Seriously, maybe I'm the Easter Egg Bunny, not a Reviewpire.**

**However, there was that one kid's story about some vampire-bunny. Right? I'm really not sure. **

**That does mean, though, that even Rabbit Reviewpires need reviews to survive. :)**


	8. Can't Go Back

**Disclaimer:Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit.**

**Chapter Eight:  
**Can't Go Back

_Some things you **can't go bac**k to,_

_some things need left alone_

_Don't mess with a memories of a life passed on_

_Oh the tumbling reservations at the heart of my mistakes_

_Oh some things you can't go back to 'cause you let them slip away_

The Enchanted Forest wasn't much different than what he could recall. The Ogre Wars were still raging, and there was still the sharp sting of magic in the air. However, his old home village had been ravaged by a battle – apparently he'd been gone for a good two years – and was no more. Which meant that finding his mother, or anyone that could tell him about her, proved to be exceedingly difficult.

This was his last lead, as a matter of fact. After two months of searching high and low and deigning to use dark magic to find her, he'd finally heard word of a man that had once hailed from the village. Now, here, in this tavern, he had to find the man.

The sort of person that had escaped from a destroyed village probably wouldn't have much money. Their clothes would be worn, and it would be likely that they'd have to steal to survive. They would be tanned from living or working outside and their shoes would be probably dirty and torn. Killian was good at observing people, so his eyes immediately went to a man that walked into the tavern and went to sit in a corner, looking the part.

Killian slowly got off his bar stool and went over to the man. He definitely fit the description – although he appeared to be more intimidating and solidly built than expected. That probably came with having a not-so-good-life. "Starkey?" he asked, rather tentatively so.

The man looked up and eyed him cautiously, "What do you want?"

Killian slid into the seat across from him, rather awkwardly. He was well aware that even though he knew how to fight thanks to spending time with the Lost Boys, he was also still only at the psychical age of sixteen and probably couldn't hold his own against this man. "You were from my old village," he replied.

"That place is 'round no more, kid. What do you care?" Starkey said rather gruffly.

"Did you ever know a Wendy Jones?"

Starkey frowned, "Everyone in that village is dead."

Killian shook his head, "No, I heard some escaped. Tell me, do you know of a Wendy Jones?"

"I've 'eard o' her alright." The man finally answered, rubbing his chin, "Why, looking for a pretty wench or something? Bit young for that, ain't ya? What are you, fourteen?"

"I'm eighteen, and no. She was...I knew her, that's all."

"Don't lookit. 'Sides, the Jones woman is gone."

"Gone?" Killian tried not to think of the possible implications of that fact, and went back to the man, Starkey, "Where to?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then picked up his glass of ale, guzzling some down, "Farther reaches of the kingdom, I 'spose. Think that's where all the prisoners were taken."

"Priso - ," Killian began fearfully, but was cut off.

"Hey," Starkey looked over to a man sitting at a table nearby, "Turk, where'd Captain Burton take 'is ship?"

The beefy man shrugged, "Last I heard he went to a different kingdom entirely, but that was a good while ago."

"What? Which one?" Killian jumped in, finally getting tired of being ignored, "Where is he now?"

"Don't know. Hey, whaddaya want to know for?"

Killian paused, then, "The prisoners – I knew one of them."

"Prisoners? Oh, you'll have no luck there, sonny boy."

"Why?"

It was Starkey who answered this time, after observing the back-and-forth exchange, "I remember now – they were gotten rid of, weren't they?"

Killian swallowed nervously; dread pitting in the bottom of his stomach.

Turk nodded, "Yep. He got wind of some royal army comin' for him, chained them all up, slit their throats n' tossed them overboard. They're restin' in the Locker now, I'm sure."

"They're..." Killian began.

Starkey finished up his tankard, "Dead, oh yeah. Not a single soul left alive on that ship but for the Captain himself – and he has no soul, either, so it ain't much of a difference either way."

Killian looked at the two, eyes wide. He searched for two months for his mother, and now, after finally finding a lead about her...

...she was dead?

* * *

Killian had been a boy once, happy to see his father. Then he'd been a teen, then he'd been a lost boy, and now he was working on a pirate ship headed to the same area Burton had last been seen. If there was any way to find a pirate it was to become one, and Killian was determined to kill the man that killed his mother, even if he died from his wounds. After all; his father was dead, his mother was dead.

What else did he have to live for?

For a brief moment working aboard the ship, Killian considered just running. Going back to Neverland, forgetting all his problems, forgetting the reason he left his mother in the first place. But he wasn't a coward, he hadn't been born a coward and he hadn't been raised as one. His father taught him that.

And now Davy Jones was dead.

* * *

The blade was yanked out of the man's chest, spilling crimson liquid all over the fine steel and splattering it on the floor. A body fell to the ground with a dull thump, already cooling as the warmth and life faded away. The killer wiped his blade on the grass, cleaning it, and then sheathed it again.

_ Good riddance_, Killian Jones thought, yanking the man's bag of coins from his belt and heading off towards the docks, where he knew the captain's ship had been docked. Soon the grungy sails became visible, and then the body of the ship and the name carved on the side.

_ The Siren's Curse? What sort of name is that?_

He considered it for a brief moment. _I'll need a crew, that's for sure. And a ship as magnificent as that needs to look less like a pigsty. _

He would pay a visit to Starkey and Turk, again, he thought – they seemed like the crew type.

First order of business – change its ridiculous name.

_ I kind of like the sound of The Jolly Roger_, Killian mused, strolling up the gangplank. _And Captain Jones sort of has a ring to it._

Maybe he'd skip the Neverland trip for a while.

* * *

**A/N: I'm a portal. Mhmm. Created by reviews [Call them beans, if you must]. **

**[****_Do_**** tell if my strange ways of persuading you to leave a review is getting weirder]**


	9. Lies

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddie Kitsis n' the rest of the ABC/Disney gang don't kill me if I do drastic things. You never know.**

**Chapter Nine:  
**Lies

_Laughing means there is happiness_

_Crying means somebody's blue_

_Screaming implies someone's been telling **lies**_

_Or an apology is overdue_

_A smile means things turned out alright_

_Despite an oversight or two_

* * *

_"Davy Jones' Locker," Neal Cassidy answers, "They went to Davy Jones' Locker."_

* * *

Mary Margaret whips around at the sound of the voice of her daughter's ex, "How do you know that?"

Neal steps into the shop, the door swinging shut behind him. The others in the room all look at him curiously – well, Leroy looks confused, Ruby looks neutral, David looks like he might rip off someone's head, and Gold looks exceedingly surprised.

"I'd like to know that as well," David growls.

Leroy nods, "Thought we were from the Enchanted Forest, not Pirates of the Caribbean."

Neal shakes his head, "No, it's real."

"Then how do you know?"

"You remember how I fell through the portal?" Neal glances over at Gold at this, startling the man slightly, but then his father nods, "It wasn't my first stop. I – I spent some time in Neverland first."

"And...?" Mary Margaret says.

"I knew Hook. We were...uh, friends? At one point, at least."

The air in the room suddenly becomes a lot more difficult to breathe in, and in the back of David's mind he kind of regrets not bringing a camera, because the look on Gold's face as he steps forward to look at his son is priceless. "You were friends," he says, his tone indistinguishable between angry, hurt, worried or surprised. "With the man that caused your mother's death?"

"It was...we weren't entirely...we didn't really part on the best of terms."

Shockingly, Gold moves back a little and mutters something about that probably running in the family.

"Just who are you, anyway?" David finally asks, eying Neal.

Leroy frowns, "Yeah - we already have to deal with Sir James-David-Charming here. What are you, Peter Pan?"

There's no answer from Neal, and his face is impossible to read.

Ruby gasps, "You are, aren't you?"

Once again, Neal says nothing, and the room lapses into silence.

Mary Margaret breaks the silence, "Getting back to the _real_ problem, how is this supposed to help if we have no way of getting there? If Emma – if _my daughter_ – is in the 'Locker', how do you propose we find her?"

Silence starts to become a very normal event for this gathering.

"Some of the beans are almost ready for harvest," Leroy says.

David whirls around, "They shouldn't be ready for months yet -"

"Apparently they like the climate in Storybrooke. We could have some picked by sunset today."

"We'll use them," Mary Margaret says, "We're going to get Emma, and we'll leave tomorrow."

"What?"

"Excuse me?"

The chorus of 'what' sounds out from David and Gold respectively. "Mary Margaret, I want to get her back as much as you do, but we can't just drop everything like that -"

"Regina is still unstable. Is that really the best course of action?"

Mary Margaret stands her ground, "I'm not abandoning my daughter again, no matter what some of you may think on the issue," this is directed towards Neal, "So it's up to you whether you come, but I'm going."

Quiet ensues. Eventually, David reaches out and takes his wife's hand, gripping it firmly. He nods, once, and she nods back, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

"I'm coming too, then." Neal says.

"My son –" Gold starts.

"No. Papa, I'm going, okay? I abandoned Emma once. I'm not going to now – at least for Henry."

The Dark One-turned-wealthy pawnbroker sighs. He taps his cane once on the floor. Frowns. Tilts his head. Then, "Well, if the whole troupe is going, I had might as well go too."

There's no answer to this, although they all look at him peculiarly.

He shrugs, "Why the surprise? I have to make sure you don't all get yourselves killed along the way."

* * *

Mary Margaret watches from the edge of the docks as those going on the journey stock the ship with supplies. The entire group has become rather large, and even Mary Margaret isn't entirely aware of who all is going at this point. It seems that everyone wants to help Emma somehow.

At the moment, Ruby is carrying about four large boxes full of heavy supplies onto the ship, showing no strain from the task whatsoever, and the Saviour's mother is impressed - even after seeing it before - at her best friend's strength. Although the young woman isn't always at peace with her wolf side, she must admit that there have to be added benefits of such a so-called 'curse'.

Whale follows her on-board carrying a black duffel bag and being eyed by David, who is directing the work. Her husband wasn't particularly pleased about including the doctor in the party, but he had grudgingly agreed that they would need someone knowledgeable in medicine and first aid. Besides, Ruby had given David a rather out-of-character glare at the comment, and David knew better than to tussle with his wife's closest friend.

The sound of a cane tapping against the ground alerts Mary Margaret to the pawnbroker's presence. She averts her gaze from the ship and turns her head to look at the man. He walks up to her, slowly, leisurely, calmly, just as he always does. It's strange, really, how the man always exudes such an air of confidence, even if he's fighting inner turmoil.

Not that anyone would be aware of such inner turmoil unless he stated it himself. Secretive too. Mary Margaret recalls the times she's dealt with him back in their old land – an imp, a trickster, with a sardonic smile and a way of manipulating people. He was just the same and yet just the opposite of his counterpart, truth to be told.

"You're quite sure about this venture?" Gold says finally, coming to stand beside her. "It might be best for all involved if the Captain stays in the locker."

Mary Margaret narrows her eyes. "My daughter is also with him. I'm going, and if you don't want to come, you don't have to."

Gold raises an eyebrow at this comment but says nothing.

Mary Margaret continues, "We'll find Emma and Henry without your help, no matter what you may believe."

"Much as I would prefer to stay where my magic is more reliable – where I can trust that my…other personality will not bare its ugly teeth – my son happens to be accompanying you, so I'll be going for him." Gold replies.

Mary Margaret does not miss the fact that he just admitted he may not be the best of travelling companions – but his comment is cryptic and difficult to untangle. If the man is saying that his magic is uncontrollable in the Locker, there may be a problem, but she pushes her thoughts away from that road. Best to not seek problems until they appear of their own volition.

So she speaks, and instead, "Are you trying to manipulate us like you're so very fond of?" she pauses for a moment, "If you think that this will somehow get Neal and Emma back together… some twisted plan for his happiness…it will never work."

Gold shakes his head. "Ah, no, but I've seen the way my son looks at Emma," he chuckles at the next bit, said a little more softly and too low for Mary Margaret to hear, "And I've seen how _she_ looks at the pirate. Believe me; my manipulation has nothing to do with it. Your family has this way of creating – or attracting chaos – all by themselves."

He turns on his heel then and begins to stroll away. Mary Margaret stares at his retreating form, her mind awhirl with thoughts, and almost doesn't hear him when he stops and turns again to look at her. "And oh, Miss Blanchard?"

Mary Margaret refocuses her gaze. "Yes?"

"Getting into Davy Jones Locker may be easy, but you'll find that it takes more than a magic bean to get out."

"We'll find a way," Mary Margaret attempts to not show any of her concern. "My family may create chaos, but we also always get back to each other."

The man tilts his head, and a slight smile hinting of danger forms, showing a sliver of the imp beneath his cool persona. "Well, then, I'll warn you now and only now, you may find yourself a different person before the journey's end."

And then he walks away, leaving Snow White, wife to Prince Charming, mother of the Saviour, standing there with an imperceptible look on her face – confusion, fear, worry, anger – it could be anything.

_She's right about one thing, that family does have a way of getting their happy endings. They'll do anything for family, _Gold thinks to himself as he heads off towards the ship,_ but she'll learn quickly that her daughter may not quite be the same person she saw last._

Then Rumpelstiltskin grins.

* * *

"What is your great plan, then?" Emma asks the pirate captain himself, tempted to cross her arms, but forcing herself not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how irritated she is.

Hook strolls over to the rigging leading to the crow's nest. "These mountains of sand don't go on forever – Davy Jones' Locker is famed for being an intricate puzzle. We'll get the _Jolly Roger_ to the ocean and go from there."

Emma gives him a look. "Doesn't seem like a very smart plan. Isn't Calypso a _sea_ goddess? "

"That she is. Make no doubt about it, the woman does love her fishes and mermaids and the like," Hook replies, not really giving her a concrete answer one way or another.

Emma slowly nods, her brows furrowing. "So then why are we going to the _sea_? Like, the place she _controls_?"

"Because, love, you'll find that a ship sails far better on water than it does sand," he says with a mocking twinkle in his eyes.

"Yet we find ourselves on _sand._ Which, like you, said, a ship can't exactly move on. So, if we're to get to somewhere it can sail, don't you think it has to move _in order_ to get there?" Emma says. _Is he really that thick-headed_, she wonders, _or is this one of his miraculous 'plans'?_

As if eager to prove her right in her previous idea about his competence, a displeased look forms on Hook's face as he takes in the meaning of Emma's words. She can't completely hear him, but he mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like '_bloody sea goddess' _and_ 'bloody swan' _and_ 'bloody sand'_. Emma makes herself hold back a snigger of laughter at the frustrated look in his eyes, although she can see that his mind is working a mile a minute to figure out a solution to their problem.

Meanwhile, as Hook thinks, he looks up from under his brows, watching Emma with a hooded gaze as she leans against the railing of the deck. Her arms are crossed and her eyes are darting from here to there, obviously trying to find something to do while she waits. Hook chuckles to himself and looks down again, thinking, but it's Killian Jones that glances up once more to watch her, a faint smile forming, the edges of his lips quirking up in barely-concealed delight at the look on her face.

_Just as bloody stubborn as Milah,_ he thinks.

But then, _no, she's Emma through and through._

* * *

**A/N: I happen to be a strong supporter of Killipan. That is all. ;)**

**What would be a better way to show that you've enjoyed this story so far than to leave a review with some [possible] feedback? Lovely things, reviews. **


	10. My World is Wrong

**Disclaimer:Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit.**

**Chapter Ten:  
**My World is Wrong

_I'm holding on_

_I'm holding on to you_

_**My world is wrong**_

_My world is a lie that's come true_

_And I fall in love_

_With the ones that run me through_

_When all along all I need is you_

* * *

I'm happy now. Leave me alone leave me alone leave me alone.

_The goddess' curled hair flies around her face like a dark black, foreboding halo. "You make it sound like that is possible for I, Killian Jones."_

Just go away.

_Her face darkens. "Your father and I made a deal a long time ago, and now that he is dead, you have a duty. You make it seem like I can just pretend that nothing happened."_

Please, leave me._ He is reduced to begging now._

_"No one breaks a deal with me," she replies. Her voice is both melodic and haunting, dark and light and quiet yet loud. It's the voice of the sea, Killian realizes._

Please.

_"You won't always be able to escape me. In time, I'll come for you, and you'll pay the consequences if you refuse. Be warned, Killian Jones, be warned and take heed of my words._

He wakes up.

Like so many other nights before, Killian is drenched in sweat and fear racks his mind, a nudging, poking, sliver-sharp piece of glass digging into his skin. He leans forward, the sheets tangled around his legs, and rests his forehead in his hands, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

Soon, a soft, warm hand reaches out and rubs soothing circles on his bare back, comforting him. She doesn't say anything at first, but finally decides it's better to ask and not be told then never ask. "Killian," she says, "What's troubling you?"

Killian turns his head to the side, meeting gentle grey eyes with no hint of malice in them. Grey, not black.

"Milah," he says, and leans into her touch. This is Milah, not Calypso.

Milah gives him a smile and wraps her arms around him, pulling him down to lie beside her, but her mind is a swirl of confusion as she tries to figure out what it is that is bothering her lover. "Killian," she tries again. "Killian, talk to me."

He shakes his head. "I – I can't…if she knows that you know…she'll…no. I can't."

"Killian," her tone is more commanding now, firmer, more sure of herself.

"I don't want to see anyone hurt you," Killian finally replies, reaching out to gently brush his fingers against her cheek.

"And they won't. Now tell me, or I'll force it out of you," Milah says.

He tries for charm, "I kind of like the sound of that."

"I'm not playing with you, Killian. Tell me," she says, but he just shifts away from her a little bit, turning over on his side, his back to her.

Milah waits a few moments, then slides closer to him, her lips coming close to his ear, just barely brushing against them. "I love you," she says.

His shoulders clench. It's the first time she's said it – admitted it. And he knows he loves her too, but it's been so difficult to find the right time to say it. Killian slowly rolls over, his face inches apart from hers. "Okay," he concedes.

Milah looks at him, her dark curls tumbling around her shoulders and her face as she waits patiently for the explanation.

"My father…he made a deal with a woman, a goddess. Calypso. He guided souls to the Locker – where those that died at sea go to rest. But then he was killed, and being his heir, the job was passed onto me. I ran, escaped to Neverland," he says, cautiously, watching her face for any warning signs. When she shows no change in her expression, but for a nod of her head for him to keep going, he does so. "Later I left the land to try to find my mother. I thought I was free from Calypso, but…tonight, she came back in a dream, and she's still looking for me to give in, to do my duty."

Milah leans over and kisses him lightly. "She's not going to, Killian. You know where I came from – no one can force you to do anything, even if it is your 'duty'. She can't, not with love this strong.

Killian looks at Milah for clarification.

"I've heard that love," she says, "_True_ love, is the most powerful magic. She won't come between us, not if our love is true."

"You believe it to be?" Killian asks.

"I know it to be," Milah replies, and kisses him again before turning on her side. Killian snakes out an arm to latch around her waist, pressing her against him, and as she falls into the throes of sleep again, he whispers the words in her ear: _I love you._

He sleeps again that night, but there is still fear plaguing his mind, its spots never entirely fading away.

* * *

Mary Margaret sits on the bed in 'her' cabin, staring at the object in her lap. Her eyes water a bit, and she blinks and reaches up to brush away the first few tears before they drop on the smooth glass surface. _No crying now,_ she thinks, _you'll find her, you always will._

Even though, a lump forms in her throat as Mary Margaret stares at the picture of her and Emma together – a picture taken before the curse was broken, before she knew of the true identity of her roommate and herself, and just viewed Emma as her best friend. Now the somewhat sarcastic, often-cynical, but exceedingly supportive, funny, caring and perfect best friend is also her daughter. And the same age.

A knock sounds on the door, and she raises her head. It creaks open and a figure slips in. She stares for a second, trying to figure out their identity, before finally realizing that it's Neal. Gold's son. Emma's ex-lover. Henry's father.

"What are you doing here?" Mary Margaret snaps.

The look on his face makes her pause, "No, sorry. That wasn't me…after…after Cora I'm not quite the same," she apologises, quickly correcting her misdirected anger and harshness.

Neal looks awkward but seems to understand, "This is stressful for all of us, I guess," he says. "But, uh, I wanted to talk to you."

Mary Margaret places the photo gently on the mattress. "Go on," she says.

"You know my dad – Mr Gold – isn't always – hasn't always – been the best person. With Emma gone and Henry missing, I just couldn't help but wonder if…"

"You think he might have had a hand in this?" Mary Margaret understands her almost son-in-law perfectly.

"Yeah. Uh, maybe. He wasn't always like this, he was a man once," Neal laughs awkwardly, as if trying to make light of the conversation. "I guess I worry he's going to go Dark One again. I mean, I know it looks like it's Hook...but Gold - my Papa - has a way of disguising things."

"You knew where Emma had been taken to," Mary Margaret confirms. "The Locker, you said. Back in the pawnshop, you made it seem as if you knew exactly what was going on. Why the doubt now?"

"It's still sort of hard to trust him," Neal confesses. "I just don't want to make a mistake that could cost Em - my son's life. And you know how my father operates."

Mary Margaret wipes away a few more tears that had curiously appeared in her eyes and nods. "Most of us do. He likes to be the one pulling the strings."

The two stay there, reminiscing on the past. Mary Margaret doesn't know all of Neal and Gold's story; from Emma she knows that he was abandoned by his father, who chose power over his own flesh and blood, and she knows that the two are still struggling on the rocky road of rebuilding their relationship, but the entire whole of the story remains mostly a mystery.

"Neal…" Mary Margaret starts, speaking carefully. How to put this without causing damage? "Did you ever find out why your father and Hook hate each other so much?"

Neal shifts back and forth on his feet. "No. I was never told, he says, and then gestures to the door. "I'm going to…I'm gonna…yeah…"

Mary Margaret nods. "Neal?" she says again.

"Yeah?" he stops at the opening of the door.

"I would ask him sooner rather than later. You don't want the scars that come from finding out the wrong way."

And then she is left by herself in the room. She picks up the picture of Emma and herself again, running her fingers along the edge of the photo frame.

Her daughter knows better than anyone the pain of getting answers she didn't expect.

* * *

**A/N: I've never actually had a pet fish [tragedy, that], but I'm well aware that if you do not feed your pet [fish, hamster, etc, etc, etc] that it usually dies. Which is really sad. In this case, I am a fish and I require reviews to survive. [I can't be overfed, don't worry!]**

**[Analogies are getting weirder...]**


	11. Together and Apart

**A/N: For anyone mildy curious about the song choice, it's** _Gone _**by** Ioanna Gika**, from**_ Snow White and the Huntsman_**.**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? Unfortunately, I am not in possession of Hook, Emma, Henry, or any other of my pretty, pretty friends. Until then, they're just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis n' the rest of the ABC/Disney gang don't kill me if I do drastic things. If you don't get an update on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Eleven:  
**Together and Apart

_Dark the oceans, dark the sky,_

_Hush the whales and the ocean tide,_

_What brings us **together** is what pulls us **apart,**_

_Gone our brother, gone our heart._

* * *

"I have an idea, lass," Hook says.

Emma tries to figure out whether she should laugh, be sarcastic, or roll her eyes. "Please tell me this is better than your last fifty-two."

"There were only two, and they weren't that bad. You're a strong woman, I'm sure you'd have no trouble dragging the ship to the ocean," Hook says.

_Did he just compliment me?_ Emma's eyes flutter a few seconds like they often do when she's surprised, but she hides it. "Nice try, buddy. Look, what's the idea?"

"I heard some interesting things while I was in Storybrooke, and one in particular interested me greatly."

"What's that?"

"You have magic," he states.

Her eyes flutter again. "What?"

"You have magic – no, don't deny it," he says, stopping her before the words leave her mouth. "It's not a crime, my dear."

Emma crosses her arms. "What does it matter? I bet magic here doesn't even work properly. And I can barely control the stupid stuff."

"From my knowledge, the constant influx of wandering souls to the Locker affects its neutrality," Hook explains. "And it makes dark magic go wild. Light magic, however…"

"True love," Emma says softly, almost to herself.

"Exactly," he says.

Emma whips her head up, realizing he heard her offhand comment. "I haven't had any training. I have no idea how to use it," she confesses.

"No need, love," Hook gives her a vaguely reassuring look, surprising her once again. "All you have to do is get the ship to move, put wind in the sails, and the residual magic here will do the rest."

"How…" Emma pauses in thought, "how do you even know all this stuff?"

"I learned much in my travels, Emma, and I've been alive for a good deal longer than I look."

_Always_ _always taking the opportunity to remind anyone and everyone of his many so-called 'talents', _Emma thinks.

But beneath the mask he's created, she's rather incredulous to realize that he _would_ know anything about magic, seeing as how his mortal enemy is Rumpelstiltskin – the guy that basically personifies magic.

Emma tilts her head. "How old are you anyway?"

Hook lets out a sigh. "Older than I should be," is his only answer. His mind spins back to his second venture to Neverland – a venture much darker than the previous one, with more malicious purposes. He was blinded by his revenge then…and now, well, he hasn't had time to consider the exact implications of killing his mortal enemy, should such an opportunity present itself. "I spent time in Neverland; too much time," he adds.

Emma recalls the story of the beanstalk – it was certainly like no tale she had heard before. "None of the stories are accurate," she murmurs, half to herself, half to him.

"No, love," Hook agrees, a faint, unidentifiable look on his face. "They're not."

* * *

Neverland, they said, was a land stuck in time – a land time itself couldn't keep hold of. All the same, though, it seemed just a little bit different each time Killian was there. In the beginning, when he'd run there at his mother's request, it had been bright, light, cheerful, with an air of freedom and excitement to it. It had been exactly what he had needed at the time – in fact, it was as if the land itself had shaped itself around his very thoughts and emotions.

Now, though, with his heart hardened by revenge and his outlook blackened by newly arrived demons, the scars-turned-wound littering the surface had formed Neverland into a place of darkness – or, at least, someone much darker than it had been the last time. It still had the feeling of freedom to it, of childhood, but there was an ominous crackle in the atmosphere and a sense of foreboding that made all the difference.

But Killian - It was always Killian, even if Hook was just waiting for his strength to lapse – Killian needed the darkness right then and there, and so the land didn't appear quite as bloodthirsty as it truly was. Even then, there was a lack of pixies, and the Lost Boys seemed subdued.

The land was molded to fit his mindset, and so it stayed that way – until a child arrived.

The boy was young, younger than Killian had been when he'd arrived in Neverland the first time, but old enough to be considered a man back in the Enchanted Forest. He was fourteen, by any reckoning, and had a fiery spirit that reminded Killian of Milah. But the boy was also haunted by something – running from the demons of his past, much like Killian himself.

He fell in with the Lost Boys after only a few days on the island, quickly adapting himself to their way of life. The Lost Boys had remembered Killian when his ship had first docked, but even Curly – who often was a little slow – could see that there was something different about him.

Still, though, the boys figured that the best remedy for whatever ailment the young pirate captain was suffering from could be cured by some time back with his friends.

And he tried, he really tried. He spent time hunting with them, helped them, and occasionally saved them from mermaids or other various beasties, but what they didn't know that his revenge was always on the forefront of his mind. That and sadness – unbearable, uncontrollable, breaking-point grief, hardening his heart into ice.

He had loved Milah, truly. That had made them true loves; didn't it? Even so, the heartbreak was all the worse when increased by the knowledge that the woman that had died in his arms, her heart crushed by a beast – _a crocodile_ – could also have been his one and only chance at love. At happiness. At _life_.

Then there was the boy.

Baelfire, his name was.

_Milah._

A little piece of her, left over; a piece left that wriggled it's way into his heart and warmed it again, as if only briefly. Milah and himself; they'd never discussed having children, but there was many a night after that first one when she would be the one he had to calm during the night, after awaking from horrendous dreams – dreams that reminded her of her biggest mistake; leaving her son. Of course, she had Killian then, and Killian had her, and so the pain was lessened somewhat.

But then, seeing the boy – the boy who was so much like her – it was like Killian had forgotten exactly how painful it was to see her heart ripped out in front of him until then. It was as if the grief itself had been clouding his memories of her – which it had.  
And so, he spent time with the boy, hoping that seeing someone that reminded him of Milah would somehow fix him – make him forget the thoughts of revenge – and bring him back to the lighthearted person of the past. And, at the time, Neverland was still an island of light magic, and so the magic of the land itself helped him some.

So he tried; he really did. For the first fifty years or so, he spent his time with the lost boys, promising he'd do this – take care of her son – for Milah. Because that was what she would have wanted him to do. The boy was easily likeable, and the Lost Boys forgave Killian – after a few mock-fights – for leaving them.

The first time he'd been in Neverland, it was because he was a boy himself, spending time with other boys like him, and now when he spent time with him, he sort of imagined himself as the father they never had.

"See those?" Killian asked, leaning over the edge of the cliff and pointing down below.

Baelfire nodded, wriggling on the grass until he was lying beside him. "Yeah. What are they?"

Killian grinned. "Those, m'boy, are mermaids."

The boy's eyes widened and he looked at the other Lost Boys accompanying them, as if asking if what he was seeing was real. Nibs nodded and laughed, and so Baelfire laughed too, until one of the mermaids in the pool seemed to see them, and the entire group scrambled away, back to the Lost Boy's hideout. Then they would spend the rest of the evening regaling the ones that had stayed behind to guard the camp with embellished stories of their adventures. As per usual. They did love to brag, and Killian couldn't help but join in, swept up in the giddiness accompanied by spending time in Neverland.

Ace and a new boy, Rufio, were the oldest of the group, fifteen and seventeen, respectively, reminding Killian of a younger version of himself. Sometimes, though, in the midst of all the adventures and escapades, Killian would creep away to be by his lonesome. He'd climb to the top of the tallest hill in the forest, where you could almost touch the stars, and lie there, watching the sky, mapping coordinates or looking for shooting stars- anything to provide him time to think.

The sound of feet gently hitting the soft earth startled Killian out of his reverie as he gazed up at the night sky, and he twisted his head around in time to see Baelfire reaching the top of the hill. "What are you doing here?" he asked, confused, and startled at the fourteen-year-old's presence.

"I was wondering where you kept going off to," Baelfire said. "I was curious…and I followed you. I'm sorry if –"

Killian cut him off, "It's no trouble to me. C'mere, look at this."

Baelfire warily crept over to where Killian was lying, arms supporting his head, and sat down beside him. "What is it?" he asked.

Killian lifted an arm to point into the sky. "You see that star?"

"I see a lot of stars," Baelfire said, frowning.

Killian grabbed the boy and yanked him down until he too was lying on the hill, better able to see the stars, "C'mon now, you aren't going to be able to see them if you're craning your neck like that," he said, chuckling.

A faint smile traced Baelfire's lips and he acquiesced, settling into the grass. The two lay there for a few moments, watching the sky, until finally, words graced the cool night air.

"What are you doing here, Killian?" he asked.

Killian turned his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean; what are you doing here? In Neverland? The rest of the boys are here to be children forever…but you're an adult…you're free, aren't you?" Baelfire asked.

Killian sighed. "Aye, freedom is a little more complicated than that."

"Don't say I won't understand," Baelfire said. "That's what all adults say. Isn't…isn't it better to talk about your problems?"

"That it is, m'boy," Killian replied. "But you haven't told me of your reason for being in Neverland, either."

The hill was silent for a few moments, the only sound the soft whisper of grass swaying in the ocean breeze. Then Baelfire's voice broke the silence, and Killian was surprised when the boy began to tell his story.

"I was scared to say anything before," he started. "I was worried the other boys would look at me differently – because I remembered and they didn't, and if you remembered, your story was supposed to be a good one."

"Many stories aren't," Killian agreed. "Go on."

"My father…he was…well, he was the Dark One. But he was a man before that, and when I was drafted into the Ogre Wars, back in the Enchanted Forest, he wanted to save me. SO he took the dagger of the Dark One and became the creature himself. Except…" Bae gulped. "…he wasn't the same after that. The power meant everything to him, more than his own son. I found a way for us to get to a realm without magic, but he broke our deal. He's a coward, and he left me. I ended up here, I guess, by some fluke…"

Killian knew part of the story already, but the fact that the boy had been running – running from magic – struck him as sure and cold as if it was his own story. Because that was what he had done, essentially, when he'd first come to Neverland. Ran from magic, ran from all the troubles surrounding his father.

"You won't…you won't say anything, will you?" Baelfire asked, looking at Killian worriedly.

"Nay," Killian said. "I won't."

Baelfire paused, as if considering his next words carefully, and then spoke up again. "What about you?"

Killian looked over at the boy. His eyes were bright, welcoming, just waiting for Killian to say something. He was Milah's. He deserved to know.  
And so, Killian raised his voice, and he spoke, pouring out his entire story to Baelfire. He wasn't sure, entirely, what made him want to share every single detail – maybe it was some lingering feeling of obligation to Milah, maybe it was because this felt like the chance to be a father, a father that he'd never gotten a chance to know. Finally, he finished his tale, and was surprised to see a look of acceptance on Bae's face. Not fear, not worry – acceptance. The only thing he'd excluded from the story was the part involving his relation to Milah.

"You were a pirate," Bae said.

"I _am_ a pirate," Killian corrected. "Don't mistake this –" he held up his hook, the metal glinting in the pale moonlight, " – for anything other than what it is."

"But you didn't hurt the Lost Boys, not like other pirates."

"Nay," Killian sighed. "No, I didn't."

He didn't admit that it was partially because the boy shared Milah's blood. But he also didn't admit that the most prominent reason is that when he looked at Baelfire, he was reminded of himself at that age. It was the look all Lost Boys had in their eyes, Baelfire more noticeable than most – the look you get when you've been left alone.

Baelfire bit his lip. "You had a father, once. What was that like?"

Killian laughed, although it was tinged with sadness. "I only met him once. But he was a good teacher, taught me how to sail, how to fight, how to navigate using the stars…much of what I know now, I know from him.

"But you only knew him for one day."

"And it was one of the best days of my life," Killian said.

The stars twinkled in the night sky, shining so bright and strong, so much stronger than the weak ones back in the Enchanted Forest, which were tainted by all the dark magic from the wars. "How did you get back to Neverland? I've heard that it's open only to the minds of children," Baelfire asked.

"You ask an awful lot of question, m'boy," Killian said. "But, here, look up there. See that?"

Baelfire followed the in the direction Killian was pointing, his eyes scanning the sky until they rested on a star shining just a bit brighter than the others. "Yeah," he said.

"Well, I just remembered - second star to the right and straight on 'till morning," Killian explained, "It never fails."

Baelfire watched the star. He said: "I'll remember that," and Killian smiled.

* * *

**A/N: ****Ninety-nine bottles of reviews on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of reviews, take one down, give it to Cheshire Illusionist, make her vere-ey happy.**

**[Do not ask me to explain this.]  
**


	12. Pretty Fair Maids (Of The Sea)

**A/N: I was a tad busy last night [...reading The Lost Boys...]...which is why this is a tad late.**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren********'**t on time, you'll know.

**Chapter Twelve:  
**Pretty Fair Maids (Of the Sea)

_Come all you **pretty fair maids**_

_Whoever you may be_

_Who love a jolly sailor_

_That ploughs the raging sea_

_ My heart is pierced by Cupid_

_I disdain all glittering gold_

_There is nothing can console me_

_But my jolly sailor bold_

* * *

Emma tests her grip on the ropes leading up to the crow's nest, and with a glance over at Hook, who gives her a nod, she starts climbing. It was per his suggestion that she goes to the highest point on the ship, so better to see the ocean he claims exists. Which she's not entirely sure really does. But he's a pirate, and apparently they have 'sea in their blood' or something, so maybe he actually can tell where there's water.

Her fingers clench around the worn ropes as she climbs, gingerly testing each one she steps on before moving up, until finally, her hands grip the old wood of the crow's nest and she clambers the last few feet up, until her feet are on semi-solid ground.

Emma looks over the edge of the railing, gripping it tightly, as she gazes around the land, searching for the 'ocean'. Finally, she sees it – off in the distance, down, past some sand dunes, the slight shimmer of sunlight on water. The rest of the land is pure sand and the dark rocks jutting up out of the ground. It's a barren, dry, land, but the ocean gives her some hope.

"Okay," she mutters to herself. "Enough gawking. Move this ship. Magic time, whatever."

She recalls back to when they were fighting Cora and Regina. Gold had told her to use magic – the second time after retrieving Pongo's memories, and if you don't count the time at the lake – and she'd had no idea how to.

Okay. So, magic. How to do this?

Forgetting Gold's advice – to feel and not think – she clenches her eyes shut._ Uh, fly ship. Fly. Fly. Sail? Uh, sail on the sand? Do I have to do an incantation or something?  
_

Nothing happens.

She's roused from her thoughts by the feeling of hot breath on her neck, and suddenly becomes very aware of a form looming behind her. "You're doing it wrong," he says, his Irish lilt soft in her ear.

Emma frowns, slightly uncomfortable his proximity (Or uncomfortable because she _isn't_ uncomfortable, but she denies that) and his words. "What am I doing wrong?" She asks.

"You need to _feel_," Hook says, reaching around and brushing a lock of hair back from her shoulder. "_Feel_, not think; remember the people you're doing this for – your son."

Emma rests her hand against the railing and closes her eyes, softly. She leans her head back, trying to relax, and opens her mind. Hook stands behind her, a scant few inches apart, his warmth somehow comforting.

Henry, Emma thinks. She thinks of Henry, of all the people she's doing this for – using magic to get back to. Images flash through her mind –

_ –_ _Mary Margaret, her mother, in the kitchen washing dishes and laughing with her –  
_

_ – David, the man she knew first as the one that broke her best friend's heart and now knows as a father that lives up to his nickname –  
_

_– Ruby, Granny, Archie, Belle, Leroy and the dwarves and the rest of the town and maybe even Neal –  
_

_– Gosh, even Regina and Gold in their own strange ways…sometimes -  
_

– and then there's another image, just a flicker before her mind clears _– a man, dark haired blue-eyed, with a bright, grinning, smile and a penetrating gaze, wind whipping through her hair, a beanstalk – _and then it's gone.

And, like that, the crow's nest starts rocking as a wind seemingly coming out of nowhere hits the sails in a great gust. Emma's eyes fly open as she stumbles forward, almost pitching over the side of the railing, but is stopped by a pair of warm hands grabbing her around the waist, pulling her back onto firmer feet.

She stands there, taking in great gulps of breath from both the exertion of using magic and the fear at almost having fallen to her death. "I…" Emma finds it difficult to say anything. _"I did it."_

"Aye, you did," Hook says from behind her, and Emma can't help but let a smile wash over her face as the ship starts moving – because this is one step closer to Henry, one step closer to her family.

Emma is so distracted by the happiness suddenly bubbling up inside of her, such a strange, unfamiliar emotion, that she completely forgets that she's still partially wrapped in the arms of a pirate – and that she should probably say something about it.

* * *

Fifty years, it seemed, was not enough time for his heart to go back to some semblance of normality. Even if he did have a family of sorts, Milah's murder and his need for vengeance still hung over Killian like a curse. And, finally, it came to a head – he couldn't stay with the Lost Boys any longer. He needed to get anyway, needed time to think or just be _alone_. His mind needed to either accept the misery and the grief and move past it, or become stuck in a rut that he could only be pulled out of by getting revenge.

He went off into the more mountainous regions of Neverland, sat in a cave for a few days and festered. When he left, going back to his ship and his crew, including the ever-annoying, ever-attempting-to-please Smee, he was a different person.

And he was most certainly stuck in a rut.

That was how the problems between the Lost Boys and Killian – _no, it was Hook now_ – started, spreading out over the next two hundred and fifty years. His mind became clouded, and even though Baelfire said that he still saw some good in the man that he'd once viewed as a father figure, eventually the two sides were in the midst of an ever-raging battle. A battle between a pirate captain and a band of ragamuffins, but a battle nonetheless.

He was Captain Hook now – Killian Jones was dead. He'd died with Milah, but Neverland had clouded his mind too much at first for him to realize it.

But he knew now, though, oh how he knew.

They said that Neverland, much like pixies, was only capable of being one thing at a time. That was why it had been light before, and now it was darker. It would go into your heart, dig deep, right inside, find you're either your strongest hope or your darkest fear and it would make it grow. The island itself worked inside you, nurturing dreams or making wounds fester. But no matter what, you always forgot everything but what it wanted you to.

And, when the island was dark? When the island was dark, so were the souls of those who lived on it, which now included Hook. Even the Lost Boys became more ruthless, the fairies more mischievous, the mermaids more vicious.

The mermaids, indeed, were his target that day – one mermaid in particular.

Killian clambered down the rocky slopes toward the lagoon, digging his hook into the stone and dirt for balance as his boots skidded on the rock. He was well aware that that likelihood of the mermaids helping him was next to nothing, but there was one that had taken…well, taken a particular shine to him.

Apparently this mermaid _liked_ pirates.

Killian crouched down by the water's edge, not too close as to be in danger of being yanked in, but close enough to be able to contact the mer-people. He reached out, one cautious hand, and lightly flicked his fingers in the water before moving them away. A shimmer flashed out over the ripples, spreading around the lagoon, and for a split second he could see the dark shapes lurking below. "I'm waiting," he said.

A few minutes passed before finally there was a splash, and a bright, glimmering scaly green tail flashed up out of the water as a shape swam towards him. A head of fiery, burning crimson hair rose up from the depths, hanging in tendrils around a sculpted face with stunning green eyes and a complexion of pale, luminescent ivory.

"You finally decided to join us," she said, her voice a whisper-thin melody. "Lovely to see you, Killian Jones."

"It's Hook now," he replied. "_Captain_ Hook."

The mermaid tipped her head up and swam backwards somewhat, her tail flipping back and forth. "Ah, so it is!" A grin flickered over her pale pink lips; light, teasing.

Killian narrowed his eyes. "Not here for games, _fish_."

She swam up again and rested her arms on the rocky ledge. "You don't enjoy my teasing? Ah, Killian, I missed you so."

"I told you, it's _Hook_."

"Deny it all you want, _Killian_, Neverland hasn't entirely changed you yet," she laughed. "It will, though, if you stay here any longer."

He gritted his teeth. "It's been almost three hundred years and I'm not a single step closer to finding a way to kill the crocodile. I'm not leaving until I'm sure."

"You mean Rumpelstiltskin," she corrected. She laughed again. "You're a funny one, Killian Jones! I like you! Why don't you just stay with us?"

"Because I need to avenge Milah."

The mermaid's eyes darkened. "Milah, Milah, Milah. All you ever talk about lately – we can hear you ranting all the way on the other side of the island. Why don't you say a different name?" she grinned. "Like mine."

"You're insufferable," Killian said, "_Anna_."

"Not my name!" she replied, swimming around in a circle before ducking underwater. Killian watched the gentle waves for a few moments before a head popped up right in front of him. "Do you wanna say it?"

Killian eyed the mermaid, "Alice."

"Nope! And I know you know it so I'm not helping you until you say it!"

"April."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Anita."

"No!"

"Arlene."

The mermaid swished her tail back and forth and tittered loudly. "Sayyy it!"

Killian let out a sigh and tapped his hook against the rocks. "Ariel," he conceded.

"That's it!" she giggled, doing a twirl underwater before splashing to the surface. "Haha, that's it! Now, what do you need my help with, Killian?"

"You hear much, spending time in the seas. You must know of a way to kill the crocodile."

"Did you try shooting them with an arrow through the spine?" Ariel asked.

"I mean…" Killian paused, "_Rumpelstiltskin_."

"Oh, silly me! Yes, yes, right. Well, the oceans _do_ talk. I've heard some things…" she trailed off.

Killian grabbed her hair and yanked her partially up out of the water. "Tell me," he hissed.

Ariel crossed her arms, showing no strife at being held by the roots of her hair and jutted out her lower lip. "Make me."

"Why don't you just tell me, you little clownfish?" Killian said, glaring. "Or I could just bury my _hook_ in your _neck_."

"You can't afford to kill me! You need me to help you."

"I could kill your sisters," Killian tried. "Just watch me."

Ariel frowned and let out a big, over-dramatized sigh. "Fine, fine. What do I get in return?"

"What do you want?"

She tilted her head to the side, and a grin danced across her lips, widening into something more maniacal. "I've told you the story before, but many years ago, I loved a man, much like you loved your Milah, until a witch stole him from me. He's dead now, all the shame, but my sisters and I revolted against the witch. We lost much of our magic."

Killian did not like how lackadaisical she was about her lover's apparent death. "And you want more magic. Predictable."

"I want a way to get my revenge," Ariel said as she reached out a finger and curled it around the v of his shirt; tugging him closer. "I want a way to get magic back. I need something powerful."

"Such as…?" He breathed, his lips inches from hers.

She bit her lip and the same hand holding him wrapped around the vial that was, indeed, hanging around his neck. "Your shadow."

"My shadow?"

"Give it to me."

"Why in the world do you want a shadow?"

"What use is it to you?" Ariel asked, twirling a lock of hair absent-mindedly around her fingers. "But you'll do it because you need my information. Deal?"

He considered his options and grudgingly nodded his consent. "Deal. You sound more like Ursula every passing day."

"Takes one to know one," Ariel shrugged. "Now, about your crocodile. I've heard passing news from some of the underwater creatures, and the waves speak of a dagger, back in the Enchanted Forest. It's the only thing that can kill or control such a beast. It provides all of his power."

"Where is it?"

She put a finger to her lips; and cocked her head up, as if listening for something in the wind, although Killian could hear no sound. Then she nodded, and looked back at him. "He had another lover, a girl. She may know of its location. That's all I know. Now," Ariel leaned back. "My side of the deal is fulfilled, so must be yours."

Killian paused. "How does it work?"

Ariel held up a finger, signalling for him to wait, and dove beneath the surface of the lagoon. She returned a few moments later clutching an object in her hand, a Kris with a hilt studded with stones. "This should do the trick," she said, the look on her face much too excited for someone about to remove another's shadow. "Hold still – never fear; it doesn't hurt! Not if it's already aching to get away in the first place."

"...What do you mean?"

"Shadows are just as alive as you or I, Killian," Ariel said, as if it was a well-known piece of information. "But sometimes the people they're attached to change…while the shadow does not. Or vice versa. It's all silly magic nonsense, nothing either of us should care about."

Killian frowned but did as she commanded, staying still. He stiffened as Ariel leaned forward, deciding to close his eyes rather than see her remove his shadow. There was no sound, but only a few seconds passed before Ariel cried "Done!" and when he looked, the shadow was gone.

"That was remarkably painless," he said.

"Told ya!" Ariel said. He noticed that she was grasping what appeared to be a thin black sheet in her hand. She pulled a vial from her mass of curly locks – it appeared to have been tangled up in her wild hair – and stuffed the sheet inside, before stringing the vial on a cord around her neck.

Killian stood, his mind already plotting out a way to get to this rumoured 'lover' of Rumpelstiltskin. "What's his beau's name?" he asked, ignoring the fact that his shadow had just been removed from his body. He'd do whatever he had to do to kill the bloody crocodile.

"Belle," Ariel answered, slowly sinking back into the depths of the lagoon as Killian started to walk away. "Oh, and Killian?"

He turned to see her poke her head up out of the waves.

"Yes?"

"If you go to the Enchanted Forest, avoid the seas." Ariel said in a surprisingly fearful tone.

"Why is that? Don't want me encroaching on your territory?"

Ariel giggled again, back to her usual self. "Not my territory, Killian, dear, but I think you know who. _Hers_."

* * *

David looks over at the man standing a few feet away from him. The man his daughter had once loved, the father of his grandson. The man currently steering the ship they're all on, away from Storybrooke and to an unknown land. He's tempted to say something, but holds himself back – this is probably not the time to be a protective dad.

Just then, the father of this man makes his way up onto the main deck, his cane resounding hollowly on the wooden boards. David does not miss how Neal obviously stiffens his shoulders at the sight of Gold. Of course, the rest of those on deck, including the dwarves, also look displeased to see the pawnbroker.

"We're nearing the right location to open the portal," Gold states.

David nods awkwardly and says nothing, but moves away from his spot beside Neal to go to the main deck. "How do we open the portal? Why here?" he asks.

Gold rests his hands on the top of his cane. "Davy Jones' Locker, from my knowledge of it, is a land easy to access by death, and much easier to access than others. However, it still requires some tricky magic – magic that is extremely circumstantial. Luckily for us, those circumstances happen to be occurring very shortly."

The man goes on to explain the nature of opening a portal, which David listens to attentively – something about waiting until sunset to toss the bean into the water, as the ship must sail into the portal at the same time as a supposed 'green flash' appears on the horizon.

"It has to be done sooner rather than later, because we're nearing the boundaries of the town, and I feel that it would be a problem for the all of us if we find ourselves in another land with no memories of how we got there," Gold mentions. "Just to make sure that's clear."

"Will we lose our memories going through the portal?" David asks. "Technically, we're leaving Storybrooke."

"We're are going to another land with magic, and not actually past the boundaries. Never fear, prince, you will still be the same _charming_ prince on the other side," David doesn't miss the sarcasm in Gold's tone.

The ship sails along the waves and a few moments pass before Gold nods to himself. "It's time," he says, just as Mary Margaret comes up on deck, accompanied by Ruby and Whale. The dwarves, who were helping sail the ship, leave their posts to join the group.

"So how are we going to time this just right?" David asks.

"We'll need someone experienced with portals," Gold says.

David looks at him dubiously, hands on his hips. "Another one of your many 'talents'?"

"Alas, no," Gold says. "It's someone else entirely."

There's a growl underlying Ruby's tone as she speaks, sounding incredibly impatient and irritated with the man's offhand attitude towards the venture. "Well, if it's not you, why don't you tell us now? _Before_ we all go over the border. Who is it?"

A voice comes from behind them all, and the group – except for Gold – spins around to see the man that just came up on deck.

"Me," Jefferson says as he takes an overly-large hat off his head and does a mock-bow, "Portal master, at your service."

* * *

**A/N: ****I would say that if you don****'**t review, an evil mermaid will come and drown you, but that seems a little morbid...and a little weird. So I**'**ll leave it up to the goodness of your heart. ;)


	13. Holding On

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Thirteen:  
**Holding On

_And oh, poor Atlas_

_The world's a beast of a burden_

_You've been __**holding on**__ a long time_

_And all this longing_

_And the ships are left to rust_

_That's what the water gave us_

* * *

The ship rises over the crest of a sand dune, flying down in a great haze of sand and dust and air. Emma and Hook stand on the crow's nest, and she tenses when she feels his grip around her waist tighten as the ship goes down the hill. Remembering that he's holding her, Emma shoves him away. "Nice try, buddy," she says.

Hook smirks, and the ship falls over the last dune, sliding across the sand and into the crystal blue waters of the ocean. Waves splash around the hull, slopping against the decks of the ship until they finally star to calm.

A wave of dizziness washes over Hook as soon as the _Jolly Roger_ is fully in the ocean. Black spots dance before his eyes and he rubs his forehead uneasily, stumbling when another wave of light-headedness hits him. Emma doesn't notice at first, but as his shoes scuff against the boards of the crow's nest she turns around.

"Hook?" she asks, looking at him curiously.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the blackness attempting to wash over him. "It's nothing, love," he says. "I'm fine…I'm f – " he's cut off as his mind hazes over. He lurches back the last few feet towards the railing, hitting it at an angle. He feels himself begin to fall backwards, feet flying up off the ground.

"HOOK!" Emma cries, the sudden, inexplicable fear for him reminding her of when the jumble of rocks fell on the pirate, back in the giant's lair.

She dashes forward, just barely grabbing his hand before he completely falls.

"Hook," she says, holding onto him as he's dangling in midair, "What the _hell_ is going on with you?"

Hook shakes his head, unable to form coherent words.

"Stop moving!" she snaps, "It's just making my grip on you loosen. I'm gonna try to pull you up, OK?"

This time there is no answer from him, and Emma realizes that he's on the verge of completely going unconscious. She starts to yank on his hand, but quickly realizes that the man is much too heavy to lift on her own. Emma braces her feet against the railing in a weak effort to prevent toppling over herself.

But she can't hold on forever, and it's an awfully long way down to the deck of the ship.

* * *

Mary Margaret clenches her teeth and takes a step towards the seemingly-semi-psychotic man. It was him who kidnapped her daughter and herself and terrified the both of them, it was _his_ hat that took them to the Enchanted Forest, ripping them away from all the people they loved, and he couldn't even help David get them back after they fell through the portal.

"What are you doing here?" she says angrily. "We don't want _your_ help."

A strong pair of arms wraps around her, holding her back from lunging towards the man and possibly strangling him. "He might be our only way of getting back to Emma," David says in her ear, softly, gently, in a calming voice.

"I wouldn't do anything drastic, dearie," Gold says, raising an eyebrow.

David nods, surprising most of the group. "We need his help. If anyone has a problem with this man, they can sail their own way back to Storybrooke in a dinghy."

Mary Margaret presses at David's arms, giving him a reassuring yet unsure smile. "I'm fine," she whispers.

It was her heart, she realizes, shuddering. It happened again – she can't control it.

Jefferson bites his lip and laughs a little nervously. "Well, if we're all done trying to kill me…it's excellent to have a vote of confidence or two. You know, I have a daughter as well. Don't think I'm doing this for nothing. You don't abandon family."

Mary Margaret manages a quick nod. "I'm sorry," she says.

"And…for my part, I'd love to say I'm sorry for kidnapping your daughter and yourself, but it was rather necessary. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all," Jefferson says. It's not an apology.

This time it is David's turn to clench his teeth, realizing that there was some things Mary Margaret and Emma _hadn't_ told him about their time while Storybrooke was still cursed. "Know one thing, even if I am on _'your side'_," David adds. "You may not be as mad as this world believes you to be, but don't think I've forgotten how you refused to help get my wife and daughter home before. And I'll only forgive you so much."

The man nods. It's evident to most that he knows better than to tussle with the shepherd-turned-prince.

"Hatter, please do explain for our waiting audience how they are to manage their portal-jump, since you are _such_ an expert," Gold says. "We're running out of time, after all."

Jefferson nods, appearing surprisingly sane and calm. "Timing is everything. You don't time it right, we'll be blown to dust by the sheer force of the magic. And I don't know much about magic, just portals, but I know that would hurt."

"Dust?" Ruby tries.

"Dust," Jefferson repeats. "The land of the dead prefers to only be inhabited _by_ the dead. If you're determined to get there, it would rather that you're dead when you arrive, so, well…" he chuckles, "So be it."

Whale, who had worked with Jefferson before, gives a half-shrug. "He's probably telling the truth."

"My hat is the only way to portal-jump to any land safely, and even it doesn't like that land. Not that the hat is of much of any use anymore," Jefferson continues, grinning slightly at Whale.

Mary Margaret shudders. Appropriate – the ex-town womanizer friends with the madman.

Leroy voices the question most standing on the deck are thinking. "What are we supposed to do?"

The hatter gives a half-mad grin. "Hold on tight and think happy thoughts."

"You're mad," Leroy grumbles.

"Matter of perception. Now am I going to throw the bean or not?" Jefferson asks.

Everyone nods and finds something to hold onto. Mary Margaret wraps her arms around David as he grips a rope, pressing her face into his chest and hoping that, indeed, Jefferson knows enough about this to not kill them all.

Jefferson looks into the sky, watching as the sun falls below the horizon. He pulls his arm back before throwing the bean over the side of the ship and into the water. At first, nothing happens, but a flash of light appears where the bean had landed and grows larger, creating a large, swirling green vortex.

Mary Margaret gazes around the ship, wondering if they'll make it through. If this type of portal-jumping is as circumstantial as Jefferson says…will she ever see her daughter again?

No, she can't think like that. She presses closer to David, looking at the others out of the corner of her eye as Neal, standing at the helm, angles the ship in the direction of the portal. She notices Ruby and Whale holding hands as they both grip the same rope.

Mary Margaret inwardly sighs. She's about to go on a journey to save her daughter and grandson, who were supposedly kidnapped by Captain Hook and taken to Davy Jones Locker, and she's accompanied by her husband, Prince Charming, Red Riding Hood – who is also a werewolf – and her possible-boyfriend Doctor Frankenstein, six dwarves – the seventh being without memories – Rumpelstiltskin, who is also the Beast and a 'crocodile', Rumpelstiltskin's son, who may or may not be Peter Pan but is at the very least a Lost Boy, and the Mad Hatter.

She's starting to understand why her daughter is so overwhelmed by everything.

The last thing she sees as the ship falls into the vortex is a bright flash of green cast over the horizon.

* * *

_I can't pull him up on my own strength_, Emma thinks. _He's going to fall, and then I'll be stuck here with no way back to Henry._

(She denies that there could be any other plausible reason for her wanting him to live)

(Because he's an infamous, criminally – _handsome _– criminally _annoying _pirate)

Emma racks her mind for possible ways to get him back onto a solid surface. She can't pull him up, that's for sure, and Hook is unconscious now – a deadweight – and therefore unable to assist her in saving himself.

She has nothing, no strength, no plan, no power, nothing but the glamorized title of '_Saviour'_ and a gun tucked into a holster at her waist. If her parents were here – people more knowledgeable about magic and adventures – they'd know what to do to save the miserably annoying pirate's backside. Well, Mary Margaret would. David might let him fall.

Then, she thinks, _power_.

_Magic_.

* * *

**A/N: ...Well, Emma's quickly learning that magic is pretty useful. :)**

_**James?**_

_**David?**_

_**Charming?**_

_**Reviews?**_

_**...DONKEY!**_


	14. I'd Still Choose You

**NOTE: All events in the Enchanted Forest you've seen on the show HAVE happened. So Hook attacking Belle, meeting Cora, etc. My version of the story adds onto before, in between and after that.**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Fourteen:**

I'd Still Choose You

_I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back_

_The less I give the more I get back_

_Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise_

_I don't have a choice but __**I'd still choose you**_

_Oh I don't love you but I always will_

* * *

Hook slips in and out of consciousness, his mind alternating between becoming a black cloud of nothingness and distant flashes of some faraway memory – a memory of his past, a warning from Calypso –

* * *

Killian had taken Ariel's advice, avoiding the sea once he'd docked in the Enchanted Forest, and instead using the age-old method of horseback riding to get where he needed to go. The horses didn't particularly like his hook, but he hid it the best he could, and that seemed to be enough.

He was in some newly prosperous kingdom – _who were its rulers?_ _Snow White and Prince Jack?_ _James_? – searching for information on the 'Belle' that the mermaid had told him of. If he could find the girl then perhaps she'd know of where the dagger was. Or, even better, the girl would be with the crocodile himself – and then, most likely, the dagger would be close at hand anyway.

Just then his horse reared up, stopping all of a sudden on the road. Killian tensed and gripped the reigns tighter with his good hand, doing his best to hold on until the creature calms down.

"What the bloody hell?" he muttered under his breath, dismounting the animal and then looking around the forest carefully. His hand made its way to the cutlass hanging at his waist, but he chose not to unsheathe it just yet.

"Show yourself!" Killian said, loud enough for anyone in the vicinity to hear.

_You've always thought you could command me, Killian Jones_. The voice was not audible, but he could hear it all the same – as if it was whispering to his mind itself.

_Calypso_, he thought, and then a shape formed in front of him and he knew.

Her dark hair was in wispy, trailing locks of smoke, her entire form ghostly and translucent. Not directly there, but projecting her image from somewhere far away, most likely. More ethereal that real.

"You're always coming back," he said. "Even after three hundred years in Neverland, you still follow me. Why can't you choose someone else for the job?"

_I don't choose_, Calypso said. _I _cannot_ 'choose'._

"I don't bloody well care," Killian snarled.

_You have to do your task_, _Killian Jones_. _It is in your blood, the blood of Davy Jones, and running will not make it suddenly disappear. You are your father's heir. There is no one else._

"That's too bad, then," he replied. "Because I have a crocodile to kill, and I'm just a little bit busy with that."

It was as if someone had sighed. _I cannot force you to do anything while your feet touch the earth; that is my curse. But as soon as your feet no longer touch solid ground, I will return._

"You're a fool if you think I'll ever agree," Killian said.

_It is you who is the fool. Mortals always believe that they can escape from what is rightfully their obligation._

"Why did my father ever listen to you in the first place?"

There was another sigh. _Your father was an honest man, a good man, who made a mistake. Love, indeed, was what broke him. You are nothing like him. Your lost love has ruined your perception. You refuse to move on._

"What makes me any different from him?"

_Your mind is clouded by thoughts of vengeance,_ she said. _Mark my words, this quest will only burn you in the end._

"Burn me?" Killian scoffed, "You speak in riddles."

_Every step closer to revenge is a step closer to becoming much like your enemy himself. You pride yourself on being better that Rumpelstiltskin, but you are just like him._

"I'm nothing like him!" _Hook_ yelled. He yanked his sword out of its sheath and slashed towards Calypso, but the goddess' unearthly form had faded away. All that was left behind was empty space.

And yet, her prophecy came true – this is the last time he saw her for a long time. But it was not the last.

_She would return._

* * *

Voices ring through Emma's mind.

_"Conjuring magic is not intellectual endeavor. It's emotion," says Gold, back in the pawnshop in Storybrooke. "You must ask yourself, 'Why am I doing this? Who am I protecting?' Feel it."_

_"You need to feel," says Hook, his voice a distant, haunting whisper in her ear. "Feel, not think."_

_Well, I feel a hell of a lot right now, _Emma thinks_. First off, it _feels_ like my arms are about to be ripped off because I'm busy holding up a pirate that seems to weigh more than all seven dwarves._

But she – not necessarily because she believes it to be a good idea, more out of 'I have no better ideas – closes her eyes.

This time, the power comes naturally to her, and strength flows through her limbs in a bright, fiery blaze of magic. Emma yanks again and with much less effort than before, pulls the pirate back over the railing and into the crow's nest. His body lands limply on the small platform, and Emma scrambles to not be crushed by the weight of it.

She leans back against the railing, relishing in the feeling of cool air washing over her face, exhausted from the strain of using magic multiple times in a day. Still, though, a tiny smile forms on her lips – she's glad she was able to save him.

Except he's still unconscious.

* * *

Hook groans and blinks, patches of brilliant sunlight darting in between his closed lids to brand his eyes. He reaches up to rub his forehead, feeling the ache of a headache, and hears a relieved-sounding voice from overhead. He finally musters the strength to completely wake up and sees Emma leaning over him, looking slightly worried, but she quickly jumps back as soon as she realizes he's okay.

"You almost took a bad fall there," she comments, trying for I-could-care-less but not pulling it off as effortlessly as usual.

Hook gradually sits up, leaning back against the mast and gingerly pokes at his temples, wincing when he feels a sharp pain. "You looked awfully concerned there for a moment, lass. What would Prince Charming say if he knew his daughter was fretting about a pirate?" he says, going for flirtation to hide how badly his head hurts.

Emma ignores it, rolling her eyes. "What happened anyway? You just blacked out all of a sudden."

Hook grimaces. "Something to do with being on water instead of land," he answers.

"What?" Emma asks, puzzled.

"Bloody sea witch told me many years ago that she'd return for me whenever I was on the ocean," Hook chuckles unhappily. "Irony, there, a pirate prevented from ever sailing the seas."

Emma raises an eyebrow. "Sea witch?"

"Calypso," he says, and that's all the answer she needs – or wants – for now.

But there's another question that's been gnawing at her for a long time now, and after his 'episode' she'll go to hell and back – well, technically she already is, being in Davy Jones' Locker – to get it. Maybe.

Emma steels herself, and then, deciding to go right ahead and ask the question, says it. "What happened to Milah?"

Hook groans, leaning back and hitting his head against the mast again, and then flinching when pain floods through him again. "You're bloody upfront today, I see. Can't you afford a man some leniency when his head hurts like he's spent the night guzzling rum?"

"Okay," Emma says firmly. She'd sort of expected this. "I _get_ that you're in pain, and I _get_ that it's a touchy subject – _believe me_, I understand better than most – but if the reason I'm here and Henry's been kidnapped by _Calypso_ has to do with _you_, I'm pretty sure I deserve some of the story."

"Aye," Hook says, biting his lip. "You probably do."

Emma crosses her arms, waiting.

Hook stands up on shaky legs, going over to the railing and avoiding her gaze. "Milah and I met one night, at port. She longed for adventure but was held back by her husband – Rumpelstiltskin. I was charming and told her stories – what else is a pirate to do – and we parted ways. The morning after, she shows up at my ship, begs me to take her away. Next thing I know we're in love and having adventures together," he looks out at the horizon.

Emma exhales. "And – let me guess. Gold comes back, as Rumpelstiltskin now, goes all Hulk on you two and –"

"Rips out her heart, aye," Hook grits his teeth. "Crushed it –" he stops and turns, heading for the rigging. "I'm sorry Swan; I can't bloody well talk about this. You may have bloody well had just as a tragic past as mine but I don't think you'd understand what it's like to – " he stops himself again and starts to climb down the rigging, not looking up. He hops the last few feet onto the deck and storms over to the quarterdeck.

Emma watches him as he leans over the railing, holding his head in his hands and muttering as he angrily drags his hook across the wood – damaging his beloved ship in his anger.

And she recognizes it; it's almost like a mirror image. Except whenever she's looked into the mirror after Neal, after the Tallahassee-that-could-have-been, she sees the same person, while he sees a man with a hook for a hand.

And that, she knows – knowing that the anguish has actually changed you in some way – is the worst. Because if you can't see it, at least you can pretend that it doesn't exist, if only for a little while. People had always tried to 'give her space', instead of trying to talk, thinking that she 'needed time alone' to 'think over it' like most people do. But Emma knows well enough that she would have preferred if someone had talked, because at least then it showed that they care. Mary Margaret had done that; being one of the first.

So, not really knowing why her feet are moving, Emma clambers down the rigging and goes up the stairs to the quarterdeck. She walks over to Hook and stands beside him, leaning against the wood in a similar fashion.

"You're the first," Hook says, finally, stopping his scratching with his hook.

"To not give you space?" Emma laughs bitterly. "I'm pretty sure I understand exactly what it's like to be treated like you're made of glass."

"Aye," Hook says. "I was probably wrong about you not. I'm –"

Emma stops him before he can say another word, even though it would have been the first time she'd ever heard him apologise. "No, don't," she holds up her hand, shushing him. "I get it. You one wants to remember that stuff; I don't either. Saying you're sorry doesn't change it."

"Are you going to apologise for asking?"

"What do you think?"

"I should hope not. You had every reason to be curious."

Emma twists around, leaning against the railing. "Did I?"

Hook looks over at her. "More reason that most. You were scared to ask, I could see it even with this headache – open book, after all – but you went ahead and did. It's more than anyone else has done for a very, very long time."

"It gets tiring after a while, doesn't it?" Emma recalls the look on his face when she'd first asked – startled. "Doing what we do best. Being alone."

"After three hundred years, Swan, I'd say it's downright exhausting."

Emma's forehead creases as she gives him a very faint smile. Hook, tentatively at first, smiles back, and the edges of his lips lift ever-so-slightly. She tips her head back, watching the never-changing white-blue of the sky. She looks back down to see Hook watching her.

They don't say anything, caught in that intense stare that seems to accompany most of their conversations – neither ever wants to be the first to break it; such an idea being almost taboo – and Emma is startled when his hand, previously resting near to hers on the railing, takes hers and intertwines their fingers. Hook looks tentative, and for the first few seconds Emma is startled, but then she nods and lets him. Their gaze is broken, but their fingers stay interlocked. It's not a romantic gesture, although it could be – just one of acceptance; two spirits accepting the comfort of another kindred to them.

Emma and Hook stay there for who-knows-how long, just resting on the ship as it is gently rocked by the waves.

"EMMA!" a shout comes from the ocean nearby, startling the two out of their trance. "EMMA!"

Emma spins around and almost falls over from shock at the sight of seeing what appears to be half of Storybrooke on a ship swiftly coming up to theirs.

_Is that Gold…and Doctor _freaking womanizer_ Whale?_

Two figures stand on the main deck and are waving frantically.

Snow White and Prince Charming.

Mary Margaret and David.

_Mom and dad._

* * *

**END PART ONE**

* * *

**A/N: ****Happy End-Part-One-Birthday to Me, Happy End-Part-One-Birthday to Me, Happy End-Part-One-Birthday to Me-eee, Give me some reviews to make me happy pretty please? :)**


	15. (And Others) Sail on the Sea

**A/N: ****If you're curious, ''Fiddler's Green'' is considered the kind of 'afterlife' for sailors, often used in reference to or as a moniker of Davy Jones' Locker. Rather apt. The song is **_Hoist the Colours_** from **_Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End._

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

* * *

**PART TWO**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen  
**(And Others) Sail on the Sea

_The King and his men stole the queen from her bed, _

_And bound her in her bones_

_The seas be ours and by the powers, where we will, we'll roam_

_Some men have died and some are alive, _

**_And others sail on the sea_**

_With the keys to the cage__**,**__ and the devil to pay, _

_We lay to Fiddler's Green_

* * *

The fire crackled and hissed as sparks scattered up into the night sky, the cave ablaze with light from the steady glow of the flames. Killian reached over and grabbed a stick, poking at the coals, and then leaned forward, using his hook to turn the spit upon which a now-unidentifiable creature was roasting. His stomach roiled a little bit at the sight of the strange thing – chimera, was it? Food in Neverland had been so much better, but then again, this was not Neverland, this was a magical bubble in which he'd been stuck in for a good twenty years now, and it was getting to the point where strange beasts such as chimera were the only sustenance available.

Unless he wanted to ask that manipulative witch, Cora, to conjure up something more edible. Which he really didn't, because interaction with her was downright creepy, to say the least. All the talk of her daughter and Snow White and bla-bla-bla-bla this-and-that.

Not to mention that she had this really weird way of looking at you as if she wanted to take your soul.

(Which she probably did)

Because he didn't really know what witches such as Cora did in their spare time, except maybe take hearts and ruins lives, and then take more hearts. And souls.

But if he was to get his revenge – which seemed so close at hand now – he would have to manage living in the same bubble as the woman for the next eight years. She wasn't around often, spending more time at the makeshift refugee camp some survivors had set up on an island not too far away, masquerading as some long-dead knight while also pretending to be imprisoned.

Seriously, what did the woman do for fun?

Killian shuddered. Best not to think about it. He'd stayed at the camp every so often, enough to find that the refugees there were just that – survivors. And as long as they didn't get in the way of his revenge…well, he had a code. They stayed out of his way; he'd stay out of theirs.

Cora liked to meddle, that was for sure.

She was a little bit like bloody Calypso in that respect, although when Killian thought about it (he tried not to) he realized that most witches were sort of similar. It was either hearts, souls or magic, disowned daughters, heartless huntsmen or pirates like himself that they enjoyed targeting.

He just hoped that that sea witch wouldn't try meddling when he was in the midst of getting his revenge. After all, if the land Rumpelstiltskin was in truly was one without magic, then he'd fight tooth and claw to get the chance to kill the crocodile. No sea goddess would be able to stop him.

"You would be surprised, dear Captain," Cora says, appearing out of nowhere in the cave and sitting down on a log beside him. "I knew her, and she tends to have her ways, much like I do."

"Who?"

Cora laughs lightly, condescendingly, "Calypso, of course. Did you really think I wasn't aware of your quarrel with her?"

"Well, my _dear_ Cora," Killian says, giving her a smirk, "You're both so old. It's not a surprise."

Instead of being offended, like he had hoped – did nothing faze the woman – Cora shook her head. "Ah, Captain, you are an amusing one. Be grateful you have helped me all these years or otherwise your charm would be your downfall. However, I find it amusing at the very least."

"Were you and Calypso heart-stealing friends?" Killian asked mockingly.

"She was another sorceress," Cora stated slowly, not affected by his taunt. "One I happened to meet not long after the Dark One helped me gain my own powers.

"You aren't that old and the first Dark One died when I was just a young man," Killian's eyes darkened. "Which means Rumpelstiltskin taught you."

Cora smiled almost wistfully. "I had an excellent teacher."

"You were allies with the _crocodile_," Killian says darkly. "And I know it was after Milah's death, so tell me, _witch_, how long did you think _you_ would be able to hide that?"

"So hasty to make accusations, Hook! Do you really think I would still be allied with Rumpelstiltskin when I am working with you?" Cora shook her head. "Fear not, I have no motive to prevent you taking your vengeance."

Hook pauses for a moment, but then gives her a fake smile that has worked so well in the past. "Of course. I was just testing you," he says.

But even as the words come out of his mouth, the seed of doubt growing in his mind about the Queen of Hearts – which had been growing since he first laid eyes on her – grows a little bit more.

He can't trust the witch, but he can't betray her.

_Yet._

* * *

Emma plasters a happy smile on her face and goes along with the festivities and the constant smiles and hugs and arm-pats Mary Margaret is giving her, because it's not like she's unhappy to see her mother – not at all, she's overjoyed.

But it's a little overwhelming, and to be honest, a little startling to see such a display of loyalty from all these people. After all, she lived the first twenty-eight years of her life with no one ever caring whether she lived or died – well, not really anyone, but she won't think about that – and now she has an entire shipload of people coming on a mission to 'rescue her'? It's a lot to take in.

Ah, yes, the 'rescuing' part. Emma recalls when those on the Storybrooke ship had first boarded the Jolly Roger, under the impression that Hook had _kidnapped_ her and taken her to _Davy Jones' Locker_ out of _his own volition_.

It had been a little messy at first.

* * *

_Earlier that day…_

As soon as David's feet hit the deck of the Jolly Roger, he rushed right over to Hook and punched him in the face. "That's for taking my _daughter!_" he said, readying himself to punch the pirate captain again.

Emma jumped in between the two men, holding up her hands. "What are you doing?" she asked, startled.

"What do you think I'm doing?" David snapped, his anger directed towards Hook and not Emma.

Emma looked over at Hook, who was rubbing his nose and looking fairly queasy for a man that probably spent half his life on the ocean. She knew he still was dizzy and nauseous from the effects of whatever Calypso had done to him, and that being punched by her father probably wasn't going to make him any better. "You think he kidnapped me," she said, figuring out the situation. "And so you try to _beat him up_?"

David's hand strayed to where his gun was holstered. "It seemed like the appropriate thing to do."

"It bloody well hurt," Hook muttered, jutting out his jaw. Emma was surprised he hadn't retaliated but immediately attributed it to the headache.

"We fell through a portal!" Emma said. Mary Margaret stepped forward, placing her hand on David's arm. "David," she said. "Why don't you let them explain before you do anything?"

David turned around and the two started whispering, Emma only catching snatches of their conversation. Something about portals and hats and _'You stopped me when I didn't know the story so don't you think you should wait too?'_

Finally her father turned around, looking sheepish. "He didn't kidnap you?"

"No."

"You fell through a portal."

"Yes."

"By accident."

"Yes."

"So it wasn't Hook's fault."

Emma paused. "Uh…not really…"

Hook piped up in the background, "No it wasn't! Blame it on the sea witch. Swan, tell your father to keep his hands to himself."

David gritted his teeth and looked back at Mary Margaret. She gave him a reassuring nod. "Okay," he said. "I'm, uh…I'm very sorry for hitting you, Hook," then turned around and said 'is that good enough?' at Mary Margaret, who shrugged and said it was fine.

Hook gave a little grin. "Thank you, your highness. I can assure you, I would never kidnap your darling daughter. She'd coming willingly."

This time it was Emma's turn to whip around and fix him with a glare, to which he responded with a meek shrug and a 'What can I say?' look.

Emma didn't miss the people lurking in the background throughout this whole endeavour – the person.

_Neal_.

Gold was there as well, with Ruby, Whale – _Jefferson?_ - Leroy and the dwarves. Ruby, she could understand, and Whale was a doctor. The dwarves – _well, of course_ – and Gold for his magic, she guessed. But…_him_?

And why hadn't either Hook or Gold attacked each other yet?

She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind, as usual, and went back to the current conversation. Mary Margaret and David decided that they would move their things over to the Jolly Roger – after Hook mentioned that it was a bigger ship, and that the group would then have dinner tonight, set out to search for Henry tomorrow. Emma tuned out halfway through, nodding absentmindedly. Her parents had it under control, and she was too freaking tired to join in to the discussion.

* * *

Dinner that night is eventful, to say the least. Hook had quite grudgingly directed the dwarves to the galley, where they immediately blocked the door and the loud clatter of pots and the sound of packages being opened was heard as they apparently worked on cooking. Mary Margaret and David, after once again being directed by Hook, found cabins for everyone – because who knew how long they'd be looking for Henry – and the rest of the group disappeared off into random directions.

When Emma passed by the captain's quarters at one point she could hear someone inside grumbling about a _bloody king and queen taking over my ship _and_ this is the sea witch's fault _and_ why did I ever agree to this._

She has to admit that is sort of a question she's asking herself too.

The answer comes not long after, when Hook and Gold both come into a room near the galley for dinner.

"Crocodile," Hook says.

"Pirate," Gold says.

They glared at each other.

"Are you done trying to kill me?" Gold finally asks.

Hook frowns. He looks over at Emma quickly, then back at Gold. Rubs his still-aching forehead. "For now."

"So it's a truce until find the beloved Henry."

"Truce?"

"Truce."

Hook's jaw tightens, "Truce."

It's an understatement to say that the jaws of most in the room at that point simultaneously drop. To their credit, everyone hides it fairly well, but Emma finds herself to not be the only one averting her gaze as soon as the two men look back over at the group inquisitively.

"So, Emma…" Mary Margaret begins, handing her daughter of plate of hot, steaming food and glancing at Hook out of the corner of her eye. "What exactly happened to you?"

Emma chooses her words carefully. "I woke up. Henry was gone. I didn't want to disturb you two, I went searching for him with Ruby. I asked Hook because of where the trail ended, but when I was on the ship, it fell into a portal created by Calypso. We ended up here."

"Calypso?" David looks surprised. "He was telling the truth."

"Who was telling the truth?" Hook says, coming over to sit on a chair beside Emma. She looks at him curiously, and he responds with a wink.

_At least that hasn't changed,_ she thinks.

"Neal," David says. "He was the one that figured out where the portal led. After that we found a ship, got a portal-jumper…"

Emma discreetly tries to tune out of the conversation, but doesn't miss Hook's answering comment of: "Baelfire?"

It's Neal who replies. "Yeah."

Hook glances up as Neal sits down on a chair a few feet away, a plate balanced on his lap. Hook seems to be at a loss for words, but Emma is surprised when his second instinct is to look over at her; see how she's taking the appearance of her son's father.

Emma takes in a sharp breath and stands up abruptly. "I'm going on deck," is her only explanation. "It's too stuffy in here. Need some air."

Without another word she places her plate on her vacated chair and makes her way up to the quarterdeck. Her shoulders visibly relax as soon as the galley and Neal are far behind her. There is no moon, no stars in the sky, the only light coming from the lanterns hanging on the ship; their light refracting off the mist that covers the black waters in a thin layer. Emma heaves a sigh and puts her hands against the railing, steadying herself, and stares into the sky. What she would give for any other night than this. For a moment, Emma closes her eyes and pretends that she's back in Boston, safe in her apartment with no parents, no ex-boyfriend, and no pirates. At least then she had a routine, something she could count on to stay the same.

But then she thinks of Henry, _her_ Henry, stuck somewhere in this forsaken land, all by himself, and her fears and doubts and worries come crashing all around her again. _What if I can't find him?_

"We seem to have the same instincts," his soft Irish brogue sounds softly in her ear and Hook comes to rest beside her, their positions mirroring how they were earlier that day.

Emma puffs up her cheeks and then lets out the air nosily.

"I know what's troubling you," he speaks again. "It's the boy's father. Neal. Baelfire."

Emma snorts. "Fairytales seem to have irony everywhere. Henry's dad is also the son of your mortal enemy. Who would've thunk it?"

"I don't like it," Hook comments. He looks at her, his gaze soft. "But I would never harm your boy."

Even though she knows he'd probably hurt anyone getting in the way of his revenge, somehow she can tell that he's telling the truth. "That surprises me," she admits. "You gave up your revenge, back then, just like that. Three hundred years and then…"

Hook shakes his head. "It was a long time coming, lass. I just needed something to remind me."

"Remind you?"

"That I could have more to my life than revenge," he replies.

Emma's eyes widen. Then she nods thoughtfully. "I met him when I was a little younger than eighteen," she says, not waiting for him to ask. "I was young and pretty naïve. But I guess running from his magical father was more important, because he set me up, sent me to prison when I was pregnant because _Pinocchio_ told him to," she smiles bitterly. "There's that irony again."

"He's a bloody idiot," Hook responds after a moment, reaching out with his good hand and gripping hers. He squeezes it gently, his fingers warm and calloused against her skin. "But that doesn't change anything."

"What?"

Hook chuckles and lifts up their entwined hands to eye-level, observing. "Just because he's the son of an idiot and the grandson of a coward makes him no less important to _you_," he says. "And so we're going to find Henry, and then you'll go back to your Storybrooke and you'll be able to have your merry life."

"You said 'you'll'. Not 'we'll'," Emma mentions, her tone lowering. "You don't think you'll be going back."

"I may be many things, love, but a good person is not one of them, I'll admit that," Hook says. "I've spent more time doing bad deeds than good, and I'm not the best of people – probably the worst to be honest, next to Cora and her daughter."

Emma moves as if to speak but he cuts her off. "I don't expect Calypso to allow me to return," he continues. "She brought me here for a reason. But I'd like…" Hook tenses. "I'd like if you could forgive me. I don't expect forgiveness, but it might make my spending the rest of my life in this land a little easier. To know that at least one person has no ill will towards me."

When he finishes, Emma knows that he's Killian Jones, not Hook.

Emma starts to talk again, but a very loud _THU_-_THUNK_ stops her in her tracks. The two whip around, faced with the sight of one of the dwarves pointing at something over the side of the ship, his arm shaking and his teeth chattering, eyes bugging out of his head in either fear or shock, a terrified look on his face. "W – w – what is that?" he asks, voice wobbly.

Emma and Hook turn around, almost in sync, to stare in the direction he's pointing. The fog has lifted over the murky waters, which are now alit with the light of a thousand lanterns from the longboats surrounding the ship. They sail past slowly, each small vessel containing a figure, their blank, dead eyes staring vacantly ahead.

"They look lost," Ruby says, and Emma looks to her left to see that the rest of those on the ship have come above deck, everyone leaning over the railing to watch the boats pass by. "What are they?"

No one answers for a few minutes, unable to tear their eyes away from the eerie sight. Ghostly forms pass under the water too, tugged along by an invisible current, their torn clothes fluttering in the waves.

"They're dead," a voice finally comes from the edge of the group as Jefferson walks up, his cravat loose around his neck as he observes the strange procession too. "Lost souls, dead souls, forced to wander the Locker for eternity because they have no one to care for them. They'll never find rest. Always wandering, always wondering, and never knowing why they are here because they'll never be able to move on." His tone is morbid, dark, as if he knows exactly what turmoil these ghosts are going through. Wonderland had hit him harder than he usually shows.

Emma feels Hook's form become rigid beside her, and when she glances to her right to see the pirate trembling, wracked by anguish, pain, she realizes – the pain of knowing that this is what happened when he chose not to accept the task he inherited. Unconsciously, she finds herself reaching for his hand and taking it in her own, showing that she's there, that she understands, and she's grateful to see that he stops shaking quite so violently as before.

The group watches the souls in silence. Mary Margaret clutches David when a boat with two young children in it goes by, before turning away from the sight to press her head in his chest. He rubs her back soothingly, and Emma finds herself biting her cheek to prevent her own eyes from watering. Even Whale, who she half expected to make a comment, holds his words, Ruby's arm entwined with his.

"Can they see us?" Emma asks finally. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Jefferson shakes his head sadly. "This is their fate. We're nothing more than ghosts to them."

* * *

**A/N: There's ****_another_**** POTC crossover/reference for everyone.**

**You should give a review because Pinnochio is telling you to. :)**


	16. Blind

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Sixteen:**  
Blind

_I know she tore your heart out, went and threw it on the floor_

_Don't mean that you're worthless_, t_o me you're something more_

_Trying to get to your attention, it's like water into wine_

_Guess ignorance is bliss, and even broken love is __**blind**_

* * *

Mary Margaret changes for bed silently, her thoughts in turmoil as she pulls an old nightgown she'd grabbed for the trip over her head, preferring the comfort of something similar to what she'd wear back in the Enchanted Forest to actual warmth. David comes in a few moments later, using a towel to dry his hair before tossing it on a railing.

"What's wrong?" he asks, coming over to stand in front of her and buttoning the top few buttons on her nightgown.  
Mary Margaret avoids his eyes. "I'm glad to find Emma," she begins, her face troubled. "But I'm still worried, and I don't know why. It's as if we've found her, but she's not entirely here…"

David nods and kisses her forehead gently, understanding.

Another moment passes before her eyes widen. "Gold was right," she says slowly. "She's changed. And about…" she stops.

"About what?" David had missed their conversation on the docks.

"About how she looks at him," Mary Margaret states.

"Who, Neal?"

His wife shakes her head regretfully, "Not Neal."

David narrows his eyes. "…not the pirate?"

She starts to answer, but a light rapping on the door to their cabin – the only other single-bed one the ship – stops her from saying anything else. "Yes?" Mary Margaret says.

Their daughter peers around the corner, and a smile breaks out over her mother's face. She walks over as Emma opens the door wider and envelopes Emma in her arms for a few moments, relishing the feeling of knowing that her daughter is safe, at least, if not entirely herself. She leans back. "Is something bothering you?"

Emma shrugs, not really looking at Mary Margaret. "It's nothing…it's just a little startling. How many people came to 'rescue' me and all."

"They all care for you," Mary Margaret replies, obviously relieved that it was nothing too serious. "They were worried about you and Henry."

"It didn't help that you were with a ruthless pirate," David chimes in, and Mary Margaret immediately gives him _the look_.

Emma steps out of her mother's embrace, taking this as an opportunity to leave. "I should go. Just came in to say goodnight and all," she says, before slipping out of the room with barely a sound, the door closing behind her.

As soon as his daughter is gone and out of earshot, David looks at his wife peculiarly. "Why are you defending the pirate?"

"Defending him?" Mary Margaret scoffs. "You saw me threaten him with my bow before he went up on deck."

"Yeah," David starts. "But just now, you gave me _the look_ when I tried to say anything about him. And then there's the fact that he was the one to follow her up when she left dinner early."

Mary Margaret fixes him with _the look_ again. "Is there a problem with that?"

"I just…" David sighs. "I don't like it."

"You don't really get a say in the matter," Mary Margaret replies with a raised eyebrow before going over to their bed. She pulls back the somewhat-scratchy sheets, climbing in. David follows a few seconds after and the two curl under the covers. Minutes go by before he turns around to face her, the sheets rustling with his movement. "Why don't I get a say?" he asks.

Mary Margaret lifts her head from her pillow and chooses her words carefully. "I was watching them this evening, David."

"And?"

"And…they remind me of _us_."

David lets out a derisive snort. "If you mean that he always looks at her like I looked at you a month before you found out you were pregnant, then _sure_, they remind me of us too. I'm not letting that scoundrel anywhere near my daughter, not with _those_ intentions."

Mary Margaret touches his arm gently. "David…" she starts. "If Emma and Hook…if this is how things are going to go, don't you think they deserve the same chance at love as anyone else?"

"_Love_?"

"Maybe…" she pauses. "Maybe not love. But he's saved her life. They work well together. You weren't there back in the Enchanted Forest, I was. If that's what they want…if that's what Emma wants…"

"Emma wants nothing to do with him," David says. Then he hits his head back at the pillow, and his voice fills the room. "Does she?"

Mary Margaret doesn't answer.

* * *

Emma walks down the hallway to the bunkroom she's sharing with Ruby, opening the door to find the bunk above hers mysteriously empty.

She shakes her head amusedly and opens the porthole to hear the sound of loud feminine laughter coming from the main deck, accompanied by a hearty male guffaw. Ruby and Whale, evidently – she's heard Jefferson's laugh and it's more insane than that.

Deciding to leave the porthole open since the cabins probably get stuffy at night, Emma turns, intending to climb into the bunk and fall asleep the second her head hits the pillow, not bothering to change – after all, she has nothing; it was sort of an impromptu trip, to say the least. So she shrugs off her black sweater, leaving herself in a blank tank, and goes over to the bunk, pulling back the sheets.

"Really, love, those are not the garments you should be sleeping in. Either a nightgown, or nothing," a voice comes from the shadows near the door and Hook appears, his face illuminated in the pale light coming in through the porthole.

She turns around and raises her eyebrows.

He grins, "I happen to have _nothing_ in my cabin."

"I'm pretty happy right here," Emma replies, "so thanks…but no thanks."

"Happy? Oh, of course, because you're in my company. Well, it's sort of dark in here, and I prefer it with the lights on," Hook smirks. "Care to join me for a drink in my cabin?"

"I'll pass."

He grins. "You look like you could use it."

Emma lets out a huff of air. "The last time you offered me a drink on your ship, it fell through a portal and we ended up here."

Hook raises an eyebrow but says nothing, heading towards the door. With a grumble, Emma follows –  
– to be honest, he was right.

She does need a drink.

* * *

They sit in his cabin, Hook guzzling down his rum – obviously the man can hold his liquor – while Emma drinks more tentatively at first, before deciding that he's probably not trying to poison her.

"We will find him, you know," Hook says, finally speaking up. "Your son."

Emma doesn't reply. _I came for a drink_,_ not an intervention_, she thinks. _If I wanted therapy I could've asked my parents._

Hook sighs. "Give me some leincey, lass, I'm not out to kill you like Cora was."

"You worked with her," Emma states, her tone verging on harsh.

"Aye, I did, but it was a means to an end. I had no personal attachment to the woman…unlike the attachment I'd very much like to have with you," he says.

"Hook, I'm really not in the mood for you to act like –"

He raises a hand, shushing her. "Do you know that you're the first person I've confided in since Milah?"

Emma looks up from her glass, surprised, and is startled to realize that their chairs were much closer than she thought.

"I haven't always been very good at trust," Hook starts. "Working with Cora didn't help that. But that's why I could read you, back on the beanstalk. You…" he frowns. "Lass, you reminded me of myself, more so than any person I've met in all my years."

_That's part of the reason I left him up there in the first place,_ Emma thinks. _Why is he so freaking perceptive?_

Emma abruptly stands up. "I should go," she says. "It's getting late, and we'll be leaving early to find Henry tomorrow. And…yeah," she stumbles over her words, feeling intensely awkward because of how personal the conversation had become.

She heads for the door and is at its threshold when a warm hand grabs her arm, whirling her around. Hook stands there, staring at her, his expression unreadable, eyes shifting. "What?" she snaps.

"What?" Hook waves his hook in the air. "What? Emma, I've _talked_ to you. I've told you more than I've told _anyone else_, and for some inexplicable reason I think I can _trust_ you. And '_what'_ is _all_ you can say to me? You run out when you start to feel at all uncomfortable?"

Emma looks at him, bewildered. "What else do you expect me to say? Do you want me to apologise for being like you, reminding you of Milah? Do you really think I _want_ that?"

"Emma…" Hook pauses. "You're not a bloody inch like Milah! You're different, you're…" there's no warning, but then his lips are crushing against hers and his hand has let go of her arm in favour of pressing against her back, pulling her body against him. His lips move against hers, furiously, heatedly and Emma unconsciously finds herself responding, her hands still fisted against his chest. She closes her eyes, relaxing into Hook's touch as he pushes her back against the frame of the door, their bodies flush together – _Hook_?!

Emma yanks herself back. "What the hell was that?" she yells, fury lighting her words. "Is that your way of 'seducing' a woman? Telling her she's like your _dead girlfriend_ and then _kissing_ her like there's no tomorrow?"

Hook's eyes darken. "I didn't see you bloody complaining, Swan."

Emma steps back a few feet, holding her hands in the air as she backs into the hallway, her mind spinning. "I was just drinking! I'm probably half-drunk. Do you really think I would have done _that_ if I was at all sober?" she snaps back, voice harsh.

She doesn't wait for him to answer her poison-laced retort; spinning on her heel and stalking away, fists clenched angrily at her side as she storms down the hallway and back to her bunkroom, hoping Ruby isn't there because she cannot deal with that girl's wolf senses right now.  
Hook leans back against the doorjamb, staring after her but not following, before running his good hand up through his hair and banging his head back against the wooden frame.

"Bloody hell," he mutters.

* * *

**A/N: So...yeah..****_.that. _**

**We've got a mysteriously mysterious Mary Margaret [and a very bad attempt at alliteration, obviously], a suspicious David, a very, very confused Emma, and a Killian that's not really sure what he's doing anymore. *Insert maniacal laugh here***

**The ****_Review-Eater-9000_**** requests more reviews full of feels to keep it running.**


	17. The Way You Stare

**A/N: I mean to write this every update, but I always forget - THANK YOU TO ALL MY FOLLOWERS AND REVIEWERS! You all are awesome beans, and I want to hug you, especially the even awesomer-awesome ones that give me a kind review every update. It really and truly makes my day. :)**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Seventeen:  
**The Way You Stare**  
**

_I know you care_

_I know it is always been there_

_But there's trouble ahead, I can feel it_

_You are just saving yourself when you hide it_

_Yeah, I know you care_

_I see it in the way you stare_

_And I know you care_

* * *

"There it is," Killian remarked, gazing at the town the ship is sailing towards.

"Storybrooke," Cora agreed with a smile promising danger.

Killian nodded to himself – no reason to spend more time with the sorceress than necessary. "I'm going to my cabin."

Cora ignored him and Killian made his way to his quarters, shaking his head at the witch. She wasn't much different from her daughter, truth to be told, but for the fact that she didn't keep her heart in her chest like normal people. And had a habit of stealing the hearts of others – no, wait, the Evil Queen did that too. Well, the apple didn't fall far from the tree, for sure.

Killian went over to his desk and startled rifling through the stack of papers on it, searching, when a wave of dizziness washed over him. He blinked; once, twice, but blackness started creeping on the edge of his vision like a quick-acting poison, seeping in until he was blind, blind, blind to his surroundings.

Colours burst into the light, whites and blues and greens, and finally a figure appeared in front of him, hair waving like an ocean storm. "Killian Jones!" she cried, her tone commanding, livid.

"Calypso," he stated, his jaw clenching tightly, "where the bloody hell have you taken me?"

"Nowhere," she answered. "This is merely a vision; that which I warned you of – your feet are on land no more, Killian Jones."

If he could have, he would have shrugged, but his body seemed immobile except for his speech and facial movements. So he smirked. "And yet I'm still alive. Your threats have little punch to them, witch, and I won't let you take away my _one_ _chance_ at revenge."

Her eyes lit up, whether with excitement or anticipation he could not tell – did sea goddesses feel bloodlust? "Then perhaps the message I bring to you today will change things," she said. "I bring a warning."

"I don't bloody well want it," Killian growled. "Warning, threat, it's all the same to you."

"That matters not, because you shall still have it!" Calypso replied. "You've made your vows, now I make mine. Be forewarned, Killian Jones, your insolence will not go without punishment – there will be pain, and there will be suffering; out of which will rise _my_ victory."

"I've had more than three hundred bloody horrible years alive. My own pain? It means nothing to me," Killian shot back.

"Your pain will not be your own," she relied. "Until you do your rightful duty, I _will_ harm those you care about, make no mistake. Their suffering will be your anguish, and there is naught you can do to prevent it. I _shall_ destroy chance at happiness, much like Rumpelstiltskin, if you choose not to listen to me," Calypso stated ominously.

Killian's eyes narrowed. "My only love was Milah, witch, and she was killed by a bloody crocodile."

The goddess did nothing but give him a secretive, knowing smile, before her form faded and Killian was back in his quarters, the gentle swell of the waves rocking the ship assuring him that he was no longer in that black dream-world.

"Something is troubling you, my dear Captain," Cora said, and Killian turned to realize she was standing in the doorway, hands clasped primly in front of her.

Killian shot her a glare. "Nothing," he replied, still not trusting the sorceress. She'd sooner betray him and lock him up in a box like the giant they'd carted over from the Enchanted Forest than _actually_ help him. He knew as well as anyone else that Cora used people for her own purposes, and if she assisted them there was usually an ulterior motive. Their partnership to get back to Storybrooke? Temporary, and if she'd gotten the opportunity, she would have probably left him back at the portal and gone through on her own – if she'd defeated Emma and her mother.

_Emma and her mother._

They'd made it through, after fighting _Cora_.

After Emma fought _him_.

And _won_.

_Except_, Killian thought, _she didn't._

_Because I threw that fight, and I'm bloody glad I did._

* * *

The next morning in the Locker comes too early, in Emma's opinion; even thought time there seems to move slower than it does back in Storybrooke. After all, it has been a day and a bit before Emma's parents had left through the portal in their world, and yet only a few hours in the Locker. Time _is sorta messed here,_ Emma thinks, considering the matter;_ it's as if it changes depending on its mood – meaning it's like a temperamental teenager._

She goes up the short set of stairs to the main deck, rubbing the last traces of sleep from her eyes; grateful that her mother had packed a comb so that she doesn't look like an absolute wreck – especially after getting next to no sleep last night.

Most of the group are already on deck, although Ruby and Whale trickle in last, looking _tired_ – Emma suppresses a chuckle – and her parents are in the midst of a heated discussion with Gold. Jefferson stands near the railing, twirling his hat casually around the tips of his fingers and observing the proceedings with a cautionary silence, while Neal looks awkward and shifts back and forth on his feet.

_What a motley bunch we are,_ Emma thinks.

* * *

Hook himself is at the helm, not entirely paying attention, although his gaze flickers over to Mary Margaret, David and Gold every time their voices grow loud. He's surprised how many people are so eager to help Emma – and, on further thought, happy that she's had the support of family that she obviously so desperately needs – but, watching her come up on deck and go over to where her parents are, he quickly realizes that all these people are also what's making her so guarded.

What made her so guarded last night.

_After all_, he thinks, _with all this caring she must think that something has to go wrong eventually._

(But he tries not to put too much thought into thinking about last night, because he knows very well that the reason he's suffering a hangover is because he might have depleted his entire stash of private rum after the incident)

He cocks an eyebrow after a particularly outlandish idea is discussed.

"Instead of trying to search both of the lovely islands that are in our line of sight," he begins, getting fed up with this constant tossing back-and-forth of ideas, and making his way down to the main deck. "Perhaps we can choose a simpler route and question one of the lost souls, seeing as how they've spent a bloody long time here?"

Fourteen heads swivel around to look at him, eyes wide. David takes a step forward, finally, resting a calming hand on his wife's shoulder. "It's not a bad idea," he concedes. "It could work."

Hook raises an eyebrow, not commenting.

"What's your plan to carry that out, _Hook_?" Ruby asks with an edge to her voice.

The fourteen faces look clueless, and Hook has to admit that he's not exactly sure how to go about doing so anyway. But it seems like a good idea – and it is, really, except for that little snag.

"Simple, dearie," Gold says, resting his hands on his cane. "We have to catch one!"

Now the group is all staring at the sort-of-ex-Dark-One who just let out a little laugh reminiscent of his past form – Hook frowns; he's heard of the Locker's ways of changing a person, but…

The clamour starts up again as everyone jumps in with an idea for how to go about catching a lost soul, and Hook rolls his eyes, sighing, before going to sharpen his hook. He inwardly laughs at the absurdity of these people; do they ever come to a decision?

* * *

Emma bites the inside of her cheek. She figures that this must have been a hell of a lot easier for them back home, when they were kings and queens and magic users with a somewhat defined hierarchy, but with their messed-up Storybrooke personalities inhabiting them too, its closer to pure chaos than organized chaos. Even her parents are caught up in the fray, tossing ideas and thoughts and suggestions back and forth with the group, most being vetoed by either Gold, or, when he chooses to speak, Jefferson.

Although, half the time, the Hatter's comments are more useless than helpful, making him mostly just a finely-clothed nuisance. She bites her cheek again, preventing herself from going over there and punching the man – after all, she hadn't technically gotten much of a chance to do so when he'd kidnapped her, especially after Mary Margaret's act of defenestration.

Whale, on the other hand, is practically mute, probably overwhelmed with all the people. _It looks like womanizer and shy doctor don't mix,_ Emma thinks. _Too bad David literally beat me to the punch, though._

Ruby's eyes flash a gold-hazel colour whenever Gold says something especially angering, which is more often than not. Most of his ideas are a little unconventional for this group, to say the least.

Emma finds herself getting bored of the whole conflict, and, with no interest in joining in – she _wants_ to help Henry, but this is just pandemonium – finds her eyes wandering over to Hook to see what he thinks of the matter. She twitches, startled, when she finds him watching her, and quickly twists away – not before seeing his trademark smirk spreading across his face when he notices this.

It's kind of heard to _not_ look at him…after the night before..

…kinda.

(She doesn't think about how he's definitely one _hell_ of a good kisser, even if the kiss was a drunken mistake)

She catches the tail end of the discussion once her attention is focused on it again.

"Okay?" David asks, looking somewhat satisfied.

Gold nods. "It should work."

The prince nods as well, and his wife appears to agree.

"So…" Emma says, joining the conversation. "What's the plan?"

"We'll wait until tonight to find a soul willing to help us," Mary Margaret says, staring to explain. She fixes Gold with a disapproving look, and

Emma takes from this that he would have preferred simply forcing one to assist them. "And we'll ask if it's seen or heard of a young boy being taken here."

"That's tonight. What are we doing today to find Henry? I'm not just going to lie around waiting for some dead soul to show up," Emma says.

"Henry could still be on one of the islands," David says. "We'll split into groups, search them, and report back here before sundown."

Emma looks dubious. "Groups?"

Groups, indeed, it appears, as fifteen minutes later they're sorted out and almost ready to go. Mary Margaret, David and Jefferson are to search half of the larger of the two islands, one that will take a while to cover even half, while Emma, Ruby, Hook and Whale will take the other half.

Emma can see that her parents aren't too happy about the pairings, but they make sense. After all, Jefferson has knowledge of the locker, and Ruby has her wolf-senses. Hook, even though the he's the main reason they were there, knows little of the land.

The dwarves will take the smallest island, while Gold and Neal stay on the ship – neither like the idea, but they're the only other ones that can use magic and sail it, respectively.

As Emma passes by her parent's cabin on her way to the main deck with supplies, she hears David and Ruby inside talking.

"Watch them," her father says. "Don't let them out of your sight."

"Glad to," then Ruby's face falls somewhat. "You know that Emma _is_ an adult, right?"

"While Hook is both a pirate and the reason we are in this situation," David replies. "Watch them."

Ruby audibly sighs. "I will, I will. You don't really think he'd hurt Emma, though, do you?"

Emma hears David's footsteps and she scuttles back a few feet, but the door does not open any further.

"No," David says, and she can hear him shuffling around. "It was just brought to my attention that he could do a whole lot worse than hurt her."

Emma hurries away – she's heard enough.

_But seriously,_ she thinks – _what-the-what-the-_what_-was-that?_

* * *

**A/N: No one wants to explain anything to poor Emma? She's getting more and more confused every second.**

**Reviews are beans. Beans are reviews. Cora is everyone, everyone is Cora, and the beans are Emma and Hook's symbol. Beans for reviews? :)**


	18. Drawing Voices

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Eighteen:  
**Drawing Voices

_Summer evening breezes blew _

_Drawing voices deep from you _

_Lead by your beating heart_

_What a year and what a night _

_What terrifying final sights_

* * *

_I'll lead you, says the pirate, _Emma thinks, irritated,_ I'm a big tough captain that knows everything, says the pirate. _

_I can fend off everyone with my sword, but my sword is not my sword because my sword is actually something else I enjoy making innuendoes about, says the pirate._

_I'm annoying and obnoxious and cocky as hell but you love me anyway, even if you deny it, says the pirate._

_I'm going to punch you if you say another thing about your wonderful assets, _says Emma – _thinks_ Emma, although she's probably going to say it soon enough if he keeps being such an exasperating idiot.

She's trailing behind the back of their party, her feet dragging in the harsh sand as the group navigates around the large black clusters of volcanic rock, which they seem to be in a sea of. Ruby and Whale walk in the middle, side by side, not holding hands, but their shoulders brushing each others' every few moments. They speak in hushed tones, Ruby lifting her head and sniffing the air for Henry every few moments, then shaking it and giving Emma a sympathetic smile.

The smiles stopped after the first five minutes, after the stupid pirate started becoming more obnoxious and Emma's returned half-smiles became something more akin to grimaces – or, more recently, outright glares at anything and everything.

The 'stupid pirate' himself leads the group, not saying much of anything – except when he turns to look at Emma, fix her with a smug grin, notice her discomfort, and proceed to make a smart remark accompanied by yet another smirk, which she has half a mind to slap off his face – and sauntering across the sand like he has naught a care in the world.

_"Watch them,"_ her father had said. _He should have said 'watch her', because I'm _this close_ to sucker-punching Captain Hook_, she thinks sullenly.

(She does not think about how any of her ill feelings toward the pirate could do with the incident the night before)

(Although the incident is what showed her how insufferable he truly is)

(Right?)

They'd split up from Mary Margaret, David and Jefferson's group fifteen minutes ago, heading off to the northern part of the island to search, while the others took the southern half. Emma briefly wishes she could have accompanied her parents, because right now she sort of thinks she'd prefer the company of a crazed ex-hatter and somewhat overprotective parents the same age as her to a strangely subdued ex-womanizer, a werewolf and a maddening pirate.

(Right.)

Emma scuffs her feet in the rocks scattered around the base of one of the gigantic boulders, her boots leaving a messy imprint in the previously pristine, pearly white sand, and, distracted by her angry musings, is startled when she almost rams right into Whale and Ruby, who had stopped all of a sudden.

"I can smell something," Ruby says, frowing. "I can't tell what it is…it's…"

Hook pauses in his tracks and turns around to face the other three. He opens his mouth as if to speak.

Then a horde of hundreds of tiny rocks comes careening around the side of a very big boulder, like a tidal wave of jittering, trembling, click-clacking little crabs, all claws and feet and shell, startling Hook. He trips, stumbles, his feet grasping for purchase on the unstable surface but quickly flying up. He lands, carried by the wave of tiny rocks – crabs, the silver metal of his hook disappearing under the surface, ineffective against their rock-solid shells.

_Crabs, no, they're crabs_, Emma realizes, and then they're swarming around her feet and her hand reaches out towards the boulder, but they're everywhere, clawing and reaching with feet that skitter all over her like a ghost's soft whispers, and she's drowning, _drowning in a sea of crabs._

_This,_ Emma thinks, clenching her mouth shut and closing her eyes as the swarm overtakes her, _is literally the most disgusting thing ever._

She manages to open her eyes every few seconds, catching a glimpse of a mane of dark coffee-coloured hair streaked with red bursting out of the horde, scrabbling for the surface. _Her wolf strength_, Emma realizes with some shock, _Ruby's pulling herself up._

Then the creatures are there and suddenly Ruby's apparent escape is the last thing on her mind as Emma is carried away by the swarm.

* * *

Ruby's fingers scrape on one of the black boulders, and she internally breathes a sigh of relief when they find a crevice to grip on to. She hauls herself up, out of the tidal waves of rock-crabs that have seemingly covered the small cluster of boulders and sand they were in.

She watches as Victor grips the rock adjacent to her, his face awash with fright. She'd yanked him up out of the horde a few moments earlier, finding his hand somewhere in the steady stream of crabs, and the two had both clambered onto the nearest stable structure, which happened to be the rocks surrounding the clearing.

"Have you seen Emma?" Ruby yells over the sound of jittering claws.

Victor looks back from watching the crabs and shakes his head. "I was under the surface," he says, "couldn't see anything until you helped me up."

Ruby tightens her grip on the boulder. "What about Hook?"

"No! What's going on?"

"I have no clue!" Ruby shouts back. "They just appeared out of nowhere!"

The two watch the waves of crabs for a few minutes, until finally they seem to stop coming and the numbers start to dwindle, until all that is left is a few stray rock-crabs skittering away on the sand after the larger swarm that had disappeared beyond the rocks.

Ruby tentatively gets down off her perch as soon as she thinks they're safe, her feet landing with a _whump_ on the sand. She reaches down, brushing off the sand that collected in the folds of her clothes and on her neck and hair. Victor comes around behind her after he finishes brushing himself off and helps get the rest of the stuff off of her back. It's a few moments before either speaks, looking at their surroundings in shock.

"Seriously," Victor says, shaking his head. "What was that?"

"Crabs," Ruby answers. "Crabs that apparently kidnap one-handed-pirates and my best friend's daughter."

Victor shudders, as if he can still feel their spindly legs skittering across his shoulders and neck. "Disgusting," he says, "really disgusting."

Ruby fixes her eyes on the doctor; gives him a look. "You want to study them, don't you?" she says.

He chuckles awkwardly. "Yeah, sort of. I mean, just…"

Ruby looks down at her shredded jeans and tattered red-button up shirt with disdain, then over at Victor, whose clothes are in a similar condition. "I'm not sure how we're going to explain this to the others," she remarks, biting her lip. "What do we say, the reason our clothes are torn and askew, and we're covered in sand is because a horde of miniature crabs kidnapped Emma and Hook and not because…" she trails off. "_You know_."

Victor laughs again, although its sound is fearful, and lifts up an arm, sucking in a gulp of air at the sight of his ripped sleeves. "Yeah," he agrees, "Might not go over so well."

* * *

The six dwarves – the seventh being an amnesiac back in Storybrooke – find that the island they were instructed to search is much different than the one the others are on. Mist creeps through the damp underbrush covered in ferns and bright, obnoxiously coloured neon flowers. A canopy of leaves and ferns creates a veil, blocking out the harsh sun, and as the group rows up to the island in the boat, some can't help but wonder why such a rainforest exists in a land that is also a literal desert.

Water ripples around their paddles as they gently row through the ocean, its depths unknown, dark and murky.

"I don't like this place," Leroy remarks, grumbling. "Feels like something's gonna jump out any se –"

"Hello," a melodic voice sounds out over the side of the rowboat, and the group spins around in their seats.

"Who is that?" Bashful asks.

She's stunning, deep ebony hair that cascades down her back in a waterfall, pulled back by a single golden comb, a complexion of pale olive. Her arms rest against the side of the rowboat peacefully, and she stares at the dwarves, a faint smile tracing her crimson lips. "Hello," she repeats.

Leroy yanks Bashful back. "It's a mermaid!" he says in a reprimanding tone. "Are you an idiot, brother?"

Bashful wriggles out of Leroy's grip and leans closer to the woman again. "You're very beautiful," he says to her, his usually shy nature all but disappeared.

She smiles even wider, although her lips do not part, and the mists rolling over the now-gentle waves do not reveal the long, scaly tail made of molten gold hidden underneath the surface, swishing back and forth in the waters.

There's a slight splashing sound, and another four pull themselves up onto the side of the rowboat, their enchanting gazes putting the rest of the dwarves in a similar trance as Bashful. They vary in looks – blond, brunette, auburn, tanned and ivory, but all have an unearthly beauty.

Happy leans dreamily over the edge of the boat, staring at the woman who has caught his eye. "What's your name?"

She does not reply, but swims back a foot, beckoning him to lean further. Happy complies.

"You're all idiots!" Leroy gripes, attempting to catch the back of his brother's jacket. "Don't you know what those are?"

A soft expression comes over the face of mild-mannered Doc. "They're beautiful," he says softly, reaching out to one in front of him.

Leroy grabs for an oar and attempts to hit the creatures luring in his friend. They grab the oar with surprising strength and it snaps in half.

"What's your name?" Happy asks, halfway out of the boat, staring dazedly into the piercing eyes of the one capturing his attention.

She does not reply once again, but sinks below the surface, a finger crooked to come closer. Happy closes his eyes and leans over, lips pucker –

"_EEEEEEEE!"_ She shrieks and leaps out of the water in a soaring jump, mouth opened to bare a set of fangs. Her fingers latch onto Happy's jacket and she yanks him underwater.

"Happy!" Leroy shouts. He reaches for his friend, but is stopped by splashes surrounding the ship. The five other dwarves are tugged into the ocean, gasping for air as the haze clears from their eyes as soon as the shocking touch of water hits their system.

Leroy scrambles in the boat, shouting for his friends. He prepares to jump into after them when a yell comes from the shore nearby. "Leroy!"

Leroy spins around to see Mary Margaret, David and Jefferson standing on the shoreline. "Mermaids!" he shouts back. "They took 'em!"

David nods and wordlessly yanks off his shirt, handing it to Mary Margaret. "Are you crazy?" she says, looking at him as if he's gone mad. "They'll drown you – their song, it will kill you!"

David shakes his head and kisses her quickly. "Not when I'm sure of my true love for you," he replies, and dives into the waves, disappearing under the surface.

Mary Margaret spins to look at Jefferson. She throws up her arms. "Well?" she asks. "Do something! I certainly can't."

"You can't swim?"

Mary Margaret sets her stare. "I can swim. I _don't_ swim, however."

Jefferson's grin mimics a certain cat that probably resides in Wonderland. "Take my hat, please, your majesty," he says, handing her the top hat perched on his head and already starting to unbutton his shirt, his vest and cravat discarded on the beach.

He walks into the waves leisurely, and turns quickly to fix Mary Margaret with a crooked brow. "For the record," he says, poising to dive, "There are only two reasons a mermaid's song will not trouble you."

Mary Margaret glares. "Yes, I get it, true love, now go. My _husband_ is in there!"

Jefferson nods, "True love, your majesty – _and insanity_."

Then he jumps, and Mary Margaret is left standing on the shoreline, waiting for her husband and a hatter.

* * *

Five minutes later there's a gasp and a splash and David rises to the surface, water pouring off of him in rivulets, his hair slicked down, his hands gripping the scruff of three of the dwarves. "David!" Mary Margaret cries, and dashes forward to help him drag the unconscious mine-workers onshore.

Jefferson and Leroy follow, the hatter with two dwarves and Leroy dragging Happy. The hatter flops down on the sand and stares up at the sky. "Never doing that again," he says. "You can get over your fear of swimming next time, your majesty."

Mary Margaret ignores him in favour of clutching David tightly to her, her arms secured firmly around him. "You're safe," she whispers, back to the ocean as the two embrace.

David leans back, looks at her right in the eye. "I'll always find you," he says, and they lean forward, about to kiss.

Then a scream rings through the still air – his wife's, shrill and full of terror.

Water sprays wildly; churning waves and slick, webbed fingers, claws reaching for bare feet.

She falls into the surf, scrabbling against the sand; being dragged into the depths. Scales and light and flashes of images going by too fast for

David to realize what he's doing before he lunges after her, just barely catching her sleeve – he's not letting go this time.

He holds on, even as the two are tugged under the waves. Scales glitter; long, slim, tails with wispy, feather-light fins made of gossamer cut through the water, visible in the moments before they are in too deep to see anything. David's vision grows blurry, and all he can do is hold onto Mary Margaret, praying that wherever these creatures are taking him will have air to breathe.

Blackness is all he sees.

After that, nothing.

* * *

Jefferson stands on the shore, his shirt only half-buttoned, and stares at the mess of trampled sand and the now-still waves where the Queen and King had been moments before. Robotically, he turns to look at Leroy, and is met with a shell-shocked look that mirrors his own.

Immediately the dwarf's face turns to one of anger, and Jefferson finds his own brows narrowing and eyes turning into slits as he realizes what just happened.

Mermaids kidnapped Mary Margaret and David.

He quickly finishes getting dressed again as Leroy yanks the rest of the dwarves up from the sand, most of them still coughing up lungful of salt water. Satisfied that they're all somewhat alive, he runs over to the edge of the shore and pushes the rowboat into the water. He climbs in and pulls spare paddles out of the bottom of the boat.

"Wait for us!" Leroy shouts, and the dwarves quickly clamber into the boat after him, taking over the paddling. They row steadily towards the _Jolly Roger_, which anchored near to the shore of the mainland, stroke strokes slicing through the water. "Hurry up!" he snaps. "Row faster!"

"Row yourself if you're so impatient, Hatter," Leroy snarls back, shoving an oar into his hands.

Jefferson glares at him but starts rowing anyway – if he can't get Snow White and Prince Charming back, it's likely he'll never get to Storybrooke again. Never get to see Grace again. He won't leave his daughter for the second time; after all – _family is everything_.

Jefferson's knuckles are white in the sheer force of his grip on the oars, tense and apprehensive; waiting as if an attack could come at any moment.

* * *

Neal stands at the helm of the Jolly Roger, his knuckles white from the force of his grip on the wheel, tense and apprehensive; waiting as if his father, _Rumpelstiltskin_, will suddenly pop out at any moment.

Attention caught by a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, Neal looks over, startled to see a rowboat swiftly paddling up to the side of the ship. He squints, realizing that it's occupied by the portal-jumper – Jefferson, was it? – and the dwarves. "Hey!" he shouts, leaving his post on the quarterdeck and half-leaping down the stairs. He grabs the ladder on the deck and throws it over the side of the ship before tightening the knots, and soon it stiffens as weight is added from someone climbing up.

The portal-maker and the dwarves are soon standing on the deck. "Where's Mary Margaret and David?" Neal asks, eyes wide, fearing the answer.

Jefferson rests his hands on his knees, catching his breath from rowing so furiously. He doesn't answer.

"Well?" Neal snaps. "Where are they?"

Jefferson looks up and raises an eyebrow. "Patience, your Potential-Peter-Pan-nest-y," he mutters snarkily. "Wait until I catch my breath from trying to save everyone's lives. Do you want the mother of your ex to die or what?"

The hatter is startled when his vision spots out and there's a sharp crack as the stinging impact of a fist hits him in the nose. He curses. "What was that for?"

Neal glares. "Being an idiot. Where are they? Where's Emma?"

Jefferson reaches up and jerks his probably-broken nose back into place. "Taken," he says, and quickly holds up a hand so that Neal doesn't punch him again.

"By what?" Neal asks; irritated.

"If I could hazard a guess," Gold says, suddenly appearing from below deck. "Mermaids, judging by their drenched state."

Jefferson nods and grimaces, rubbing his nose. He does not miss than Neal does not offer an apology. "Hate them almost as much as those blue caterpillars," he remarks. "Hoped I wouldn't have another encounter."

Creases form on Gold's forehead. "Mermaids aren't native to the Locker," he says. "In fact…"

Jefferson nods. "The island the dwarves were to search should not be here in the first place."

Neal steps forward. "What do you mean?"

Gold doesn't look at his son, but it's obvious he's addressing him. "I don't think it was an ordinary attack," he says. "Those mermaids were searching for something."

"Or someone," Jefferson mumbles, but his comment is lost by shouts coming from the side of the ship.

The group rushes over, greeted with the sight of Ruby and Whale standing in a rowboat that's wobbling precariously, their clothes shredded and hanging from them like tattered animal skins. "Hey!" Ruby shouts. "Let us up!"

"Where's Emma?" Neal shouts back. "And where's _Hook_?"

"Gone," Ruby replies, her face shadowed. "They were taken."

Gold leans over the side of the ship and nods to himself. "If my presumption is correct, by the same forces that took your king and queen."

The silence that falls over the ship like a heavy veil is not a pleasant one.

* * *

**A/N: ****I can assure you no crabs will come and kidnap you in your sleep if you review. :)**


	19. West

**This my favourite chapter so far, so...**

******Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Nineteen:  
**West

_But you can set sail to the west if you want to _

_And pass the horizon, 'til I can't even see you _

_Far from here _

_Where the beaches are wide _

_Just leave me your wake to remember you by_

* * *

Emma struggles wildly in the masses of crabs, 'swimming' in the direction she thinks leads to the surface. Her hand touches fresh air after a few moments of fear, and then her head breaks the surface and she takes in gulps of breath. She uses her arms to keep on the surface, kicking her legs as if she's treading water.

"Emma!" There's a shout from nearby her in the waves of crabs that are still swarming across the sand. She turns her head as much as she's capable of to see Hook just barely above the surface.

"Hook!" she shouts back, relieved, at least, that she's not in this alone. "What the hell is going on?"

"I have no bloody idea!" he replies. "Wait a moment; I'll try to get over to you."

Emma watches as Hook uses his namesake to find purchase on some of the more rock-like crabs, 'swimming' through the sea of spider-like sea creatures towards her. His good hand grabs her and holds it tight as soon as she's close enough, and she clutches it like a lifeline, refusing to let go of her only anchor as they're carried along.

Suddenly her feet touch solid ground and she finds herself stumbling as the mounds of crabs skitter away. Tiny feet scurry over the hot sand until they're left in a wide, barren desert with only tattered clothes and minor scratches as a mark of the incident. "They're gone," Emma remarks, standing there. Then her face grows furious, and she whips around to look at Hook.

"Why did they just suddenly abandon us? Do you know what the _hell_ these things were?"

Hook plants his feet firmly on the ground. "I repeat, I have no bloody idea."

"Do they know _you_?"

"How are crabs supposed to bloody know me?"

Emma glowers at him. "I mean, do they work for what's-her-name-_Calypso_?"

"I don't bloody well know!" he retorts. "Stop asking me all these bloody questions!"

"Stop saying 'bloody'!"

"I won't _have_ any _blood_ left if you keep gripping my hand that tight, love!"

Emma becomes aware of the fact that she has his hand in a vice grip and drops it like a hot coal. Immediately her eyes flash back to him with a fierce look. "I don't care! Do you want to explain to me why the _hell_ I'm now stuck with a pirateinstead of my family after being carried into the middle of a desert by _crabs_?"

"Tell me, Swan, why should_ I_ know?" Hook answers. "Do I look like Calypso to you?"

"You probably know a hell of a lot more than I do!"

Hook lifts his hook into the air, gesturing to the open plains. "Would you like me to tell you what I do know?" he asks with an edge to his voice. "What I do know is that we are now here, miles away from my ship. I also know that we are very likely not going escape alive, unless Calypso wants something from me still – because yes, Swan, those were her servants, and they'll be back."

Emma stares at him and clenches her jaw. She hadn't thought he could get any more infuriating, but here she is in the middle of Davy Jones' Locker, this time without a ship or any provisions.

"Well? Do you find my knowledge to be reassuring? Because I don't. I don't see how anything is going to bloody well help." Hook asks; his voice suddenly too quiet for her liking. At least when he's shouting, she can understand his thoughts somewhat, but this silent anger is impossible to get a read on.

Emma shivers, tiny feet skittering up her spine like veins of frost on the glass of a window, and suddenly takes in the fact that they're standing a foot apart, the heat of his body radiating onto hers. Her head is tilted up, and her eyes meet his, bodies much too close for comfort. Tension clouds the atmosphere around them.

Emma regains some of her strength, enough to speak. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Okay," she says slowly. "I think it's about time you tell me what Calypso wants with _you_. Look, I get that your father was Davy Jones and all that, but what makes you so important? If you don't want to do the job, why not someone else?"

Hook shakes his head, the tension in the air still hanging there, thick enough that it would take more than a knife to slice through. "You're right. She wants nothing with _me_," he says. "She wants the _idea_ of me; a caretaker for the Locker, someone she can play with like a puppet on strings."

Emma nods; that was her line of thinking as well. "And my son? If she did take him, _why_?"

He doesn't answer for a few moments too long, and the words that escape his mouth are as cryptic as ever. "She warned me that she'd hurt those I care for," he says. "Perhaps this is her way of carrying out that threat."

_What the hell does that mean?_ Emma wonders. She changes the topic, uncomfortable with how much thicker the air between them had grown. As she speaks, the cloud encasing the two slowly fades away, and they're back to a safer point in their conversation.

"We need to get back to the ship," she says. "Mary Margaret and David will be worried; if Ruby and Whale escaped the crabs then they'll probably have already informed the others…" she trails off. "We don't really have anything except the clothes on our backs – I lost my sword back in the swarm."

Emma sighs. _What I wouldn't give for a GPS. Or a compass. Or something._

"Actually, m'dear" Hook says, and she realizes that she had voiced her thoughts aloud. "I might have a certain object that will suit our needs…" with that, he reaches into the inside breast pocket of his leather jacket and pulls something out. It shines faintly in the sun as Hook opens his hand.

"The compass," Emma says at the sight of the artifact from their very first adventure, her voice soft, then turning confused. She looks from it too him. "That was in my _apartment_, Hook. Did you…?" she leaves her question open.

"A pirate always takes a souvenir of his conquests," a smirk lifts the edges of his lips in typical Hook-fashion.

Emma rolls her eyes. "It's useful, sure, but the sun doesn't even rise in the right place here."

"It rises in the west and sets in the east," Hook nods. "There's that, aye. But if we go west, we'll find the ocean, because the horizon there is the only place the sun will set in this land – it's the only way to escape, after all."

"Well," Emma says, grudgingly agreeing, and gestures to the compass. "I hope you can use that thing, then."

Hook grins. "Not the only thing I can use, love, if you want a demonstration."

Emma ignores him and doesn't comment, waving for Hook to start walking. She follows behind him.

_I'll lead you, says the pirate._

* * *

It's been nasty-sea-goddess-knows-how-many-hours since they started walking. The sun is steadily falling in the sky, falling until it's a mere spot of light on the edge of the seemingly endless horizon. There's a bright flash of green before it winks out altogether, and then the land is encompassed in darkness.

_So that's what he means by the only place the sun will set_, Emma thinks. _Weird – Pirates of the Caribbean all over again._

"We should probably find a sheltered area to stay the night," Hook says, looking back at her. "It gets very cold in deserts once the sun has gone done."

"Uh-huh. Shout if you see anything." Emma replies.

They keep walking until Hook does indeed shout, and Emma squints to see a group of dark shapes clustered together to the left. She picks up the pace until she's right behind Hook, following him into the small, sheltered area that's surrounded by rocks. It's much like where they were taken by the crabs earlier that day, but for the fact that they are on the mainland now, and that was a separate island entirely.

Hook kicks away some gravel around the largest rock that has a huge overhang, and sits down, leaning back against its base. Emma curls up at the base of a boulder across from him and wraps her arms around her legs as she presses them to her chest. "No fire, I guess," she says. "It's freezing."

Emma can't see him very well in this light, but she swears that he's smirking. "Come over here and I can keep you very warm, love," he says.

"No chance, pal," Emma says, rolling her eyes, even though he can't see them in this light. "I'll stick to popsicle toes, thank you very much."

"I was being genuine, Swan," Hook says, and she swears that he sounds faintly upset.

She ignores that treasonous thought. "I'm f-f-fine, really."

There's a scuffling sound of someone standing up. "You'll bloody freeze to death, Emma," Hook says, and then an arm is wrapped around her shoulders, followed the weight of his leather jacket. "Don't be so bloody stubborn," he says; his voice from right beside her; breath hot on her cheek.

His body is warm pressed up against her huddled, shivering form, and Emma stiffens when he tucks her closer to him as a great chill wracks through her. She tenses for a few moments before reluctantly complying, and squeezes closer to him. _Better to be embraced by a pirate than die from hypothermia. _

"D-d-didn't realize d-d-deserts got _this_ c-c-cold at night," Emma comments, teeth chattering.

She can feel Hook nod. "Aye, not so pleasant," he agrees. "Here, tuck your head against me, it'll be warmer."

Emma lets out an obviously exasperated sigh, but does as requested. The black linen of his shirt smells faintly of the ocean and very strongly of rum – as if he guzzled down a bunch of it the night before or something. _I guess he probably knows a little more about living outdoors than I do, _she thinks._ Never was the camping type. _

A brief wave of sadness washes over her; if she'd grown up like her parents had intended her to, would surviving in the wilderness be one of the things her parents would have taught her?

"You okay there, Emma?" Hook asks, his arm tightening around her. She realizes that's the third time he's called her by her real name today.

(She ignores the possibility that she kind of likes the sound of it in his Irish brogue)

She wraps the jacket more firmly around them, wishing she was in a heated building right now – _although, he is pretty hot. Wait, no, Emma, not like that. Hot as in warm. As in temperature. Don't let your mind go there when you're practically already wrapped in each other's arms._

_Oh, crap, not like that. _

_Shut up, Emma._

"I'm f-fine," Emma replies, wincing at the stutter in her voice. "A little warmer than before," she tries, thinking he'll possibly loosen his grip.

He doesn't, instead shifting back until he's lying down, patting the ground beside him. "You can lie down," Hook says. "I'm not going to bite."

Emma is apprehensive. "It's okay, I t-told you, I'm warmer."

"Aye, but you still need to sleep. Trust me, it's very difficult to sleep sitting up," Hook retorts.

Emma pauses. _No,_ her mind says. _Next thing you know he'll be trying to - no, forget that, that was a mistake, shut up again._ "O-okay," she concedes, settling down beside him "Just for tonight, though."

"As you wish, Emma," Hook replies as she settles her head against his chest, the leather jacket still tucked around them. She can feel his pulse beating through his vest and shirt, and it's almost a comforting sound.

Emma does her best to fall asleep as she lies there, curled up against Hook, listening to the soothing beat of his heart. _Thu-thump, thu-thump_, she hears, and she can almost imagine that its sort of like the whir of the fan back in the apartment she and Mary Margaret shared during the curse, that she's there and not in a desert with Captain Hook of all people, wrapped in his arms.

She's unsuccessful – and maybe it's because she knows good and well that she's not in the apartment, and maybe it's because (if she's being truly honest with herself) that it's not that bad being in his arms, but after a while it's just because she can't stop thinking about Henry.

Hook can probably sense her worry (thanks to that stupid open book thing), and it's confirmed when he speaks up again. "You can't sleep," he states, his voice soft in her ear, chin just barely resting against her head.

"…yeah," Emma admits.

"Your lad, Henry?"

Emma nods. "I just can't figure out what Calypso would want with him. It's not like he's _your_ son or anything," she chuckles, not noticing how his shoulders clench and his grip on her loosens somewhat at her last words.

Hook's next comment, however, is not at all related to hers. "Emma," he begins.

"Yeah?"

"Could you…" Hook pauses, and Emma once again is ninety-nine percent sure she's afraid of something. "Could you do something for me?"

She shifts away a little bit warily and sits up somewhat. "Tread carefully here," she says with a warning tone.

He quickly shakes his head, his vehement denial surprising her. "Not like that. Just…when I met you, I introduced myself as Killian Jones."

"…and?" Emma asks, still not lying back down.

"…I'd appreciate if that would be the name you remember, rather than Hook," he says.

Emma slowly settles back down into his arms. "Okay," she says – she can afford him this one thing, she thinks. Just forget about it all come morning. "Okay. I can do that."

If smiles were audible, the one that forms on his lips would have been a yell. She curls up again, head once again on his chest, breathing in the scent of sea salt and pirate's alcohol.

"Goodnight," she whispers, sleep finally coming to her as her eyes flutter shut, "Killian."

* * *

**A/N: To clarify, he'll be referred to as 'Killian' in both flashbacks and present day now. :)**

**The review-vultures are circling. Feed them quickly!**


	20. I Fall

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Twenty:  
**I fall

_Make ash and leave the dust behind_

_Lady diamond in the sky_

_Wild light_

_Glowing bright_

_To guide me_

_When I fall_

_I fall on tragedy_

* * *

Killian sat on a crate at the Storybrooke docks, running a metal file over the sharp point of his hook. His actions were methodical, with the practiced ease of someone who'd done this countless times before. Tiny flecks of silver sparked off the end of his hook, fluttering to the ground in a myriad of shimmering dust.

His mind was calm, for once, devoid of any particularly troubling thoughts, but for the two images circling his mind – the first, of plunging his hook into the crocodile's heart – and the second, a little more obscure, of a flash of gold hair against hundreds of gold coins stacked in towers upon towers.

Killian found the first one to be a good deal more satisfying – after all, wasn't that what he wanted? His revenge, plain and simple, no strings, evil sorceresses, blond betrayers and likewise attached?

_Aye, about that,_ Killian thought. _A little more pain on Rumpelstiltskin's face would be enjoyable, though._

Since Cora and himself had arrived in the tiny seaside Maine town not too much earlier – after Calypso's vague threat and the subsequent growing of his mistrust of Cora – he hadn't had much in the way of things to do, but for keeping to the roofs of buildings to watch for his crocodile. Cora had indeed brought to his attention that aye, perhaps his revenge would take a little bit more planned than he'd originally thought. After all, it had been brought to his attention – after an unsuccessful chat with Rumpelstiltskin's ex-beau, a drink with the Evil Queen, a trip to Wonderland, and twenty-eight years under a curse – that the murder of the infamous Dark One would take some preparation.

(After all, it's not like you can go around killing three-hundred-year old magic users every day)

The sound of splashing in the waters beside him brought Killian back from his thoughts of revenge, and he looked up from his work. A large white waterfowl swam up to the edge of the docks, her pristine white feathers stark against the seemingly-black waters at this time of night.

Killian frowned. _A _**swan**_? Really?_

The bird's form swam closer to where he was sitting. Killian huffed out a sigh. "Are you some bloody messenger for Cora?" he finally muttered.

(Oh, _lovely_, now he was talking to swans)

This swan, however, had something to say in return.

Her form shimmered – just for second, not long enough to make Killian think it was anything more than a trick of the eyes – but then it shimmered again, and grew, finally exploding in a puff of purple magic. The cloud dissipated, revealing a familiar sight to the pirate captain -

"Calypso," he groaned. "What are you bloody doing here this time?"

The ethereal, somewhat ghostly form of the sea goddess did not speak, nor did she do anything to make him think she'd heard his words.

Killian sighed, shook his head, went back to sharpening his hook. He waited for her to leave, as if his ignoring the witch would somehow change matters. When he looked up out of the corner of his eyes a few moments later, however, she had not left, nor moved. Killian scratched his temple, confused – and, if he was honest, a little anxious. Not that infamous pirates got anxious or anything on a regular basis, but…

_Rather eerie, seeing a bloody _**swan**_ turn into a _witch_. She has an awfully bitter sense of humour._

Then he bit his lip.

_Unless she's not trying to frighten me._

Killian gnawed on his lower lip, avoiding looking at the Calypso-Swan.

_Calypso_.

**_Swan_**.

"Oh, bloody hell," Killian muttered. Then, louder, "Is this your way of playing with my mind, witch? Making me think of –" he cut himself off, and then corrected his words. "Making me think that threat you issued me back on my ship was for _her_?"

He looked back down, his mind no longer a very pleasant place to be. _Was that her aim, then, _he thought; _trying to rile me up, make me think of things I'd prefer not to?_

"Don't expect your mind games to work on me –" Killian glanced up, but as soon as he did, the cloud of purple magic fell over the Calypso-Swan, turning her figure into hundreds of tiny, rock-like crabs. They quickly fell into the water and sank beneath the surface.

Captain Hook was left with, for once, absolutely nothing to say.

* * *

Killian rolls over, back aching from lying on the sandy ground, expecting to find himself facing Emma again.

When he opens his eyes, however, he's alone.

Killian leaps up, tossing his jacket to the ground. "Emma!" he shouts immediately, hoping she's just nearby and had to relieve herself or something. "_Emma!_"

When there's no answer, the fear rising in the pit of his stomach grows. "_Emma!_" he shouts again, and runs around each and every boulder, looking for her. It's as if she's disappeared into thin air, without leaving any trace – wait.

He spins around and looks on the ground. _Come on, come on..._yes_! Footprints. _He makes sure his hook is secure and quickly puts on his leather jacket before following the trail of prints in the sand.

They go on for quite a while, and Killian becomes more and more anxious with every minute he hasn't found Emma. The land is still dark and he's been walking for a good ten minutes in the desert. Finally, a rock cluster appears not too far away. _Emma_, Killian thinks, his theory appearing concrete when the footprints head in that direction. The dark mouth of a cave is revealed, and he wastes no time following Emma's tracks inside.

"Emma?" he tries, going down the length of a tunnel that seems much longer than it should be more such a small group of boulders. "Emma?"

Finally a light appears in the distance, and opens to expose a large cave with a cell at the very back. A figure stands in the cell, not moving, golden curls cascading down their back.

"Emma!" Killian says, rushing forward. He fumbles with the lock on the cell before realizing that it's open. "Emma, what in the bloody hell are you –"

He stops upon entering the cell. Emma turns around, and Killian slowly walks towards her. He presses his good hand against the mirror showing her image from another place. "Emma," he says softly. "What happened to you?"

_Mirrors were the queen's thing, weren't they? _He muses. "Who did this to you? Was it Regina?"

Emma sadly shakes her head, not speaking.

"Emma?" Killian tries again. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but no sound comes out.

_A curse?_

A cloud of purple smoke congregates in the mirror, replacing Emma's image with that of Calypso. Her long mocha hair hangs around her shoulders, and the simple ashen-toned dress she wears a stark contrast against caramel skin.

"Release her," Killian immediately says. "It's me you want."

Calypso shakes her head with a smug smile. "It's just as I thought, Killian Jones."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

She waves a hand. "Ah, nothing to concern yourself with. If you understood you would not have asked, so there's no point in telling you myself. However…"

"Get to the point."

"You're a pirate," Calypso remarks. "Surely you've heard of a parley. The two of us will talk; no weapons, no one else there. We can outline a deal for Emma's safety, perhaps?"

Killian grits his teeth – he'll do anything if Calypso won't hurt Emma, _but_ _this witch, bloody hell she's cryptic_ – "Where can I meet you?" he asks, reluctantly accepting.

Calypso smiles. "Isla Sirena."

She disappears in a purple cloud again, leaving Killian to stand in the cave by himself with nothing but an empty mirror for company.

* * *

**A/N: Have you seen**_ Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides_**? That island? Meet Isla Sirena [Yes, that's it's ACTUAL name].**

**Poor Killian. Let's give him some reviews to give him hope, yes yes? Well, Emma would work better if we want to give him hope, but we can't give him her at the moment, so..reviews?**


	21. Your Game

**A/N: Let's welcome Henry back.**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Twenty-One:  
**Your Game

_I'm taking it slow_

_Feeding my flame_

_Shuffling the cards of your game_

_And just in time_

_In the right place_

_Suddenly I will play my ace_

* * *

Henry flicks through his storybook, his fingers deftly turning the pages until they find the part of the story he's looking for. The steady _drip-drip_ of water running off the walls of the cave he's locked in pitter-patters in the back of his mind as his eyes scan the page…

* * *

_…and as Snow White entered the dungeon and saw her Prince Charming in the cell, her heart burst with joy and happiness to see her love again. Without further thought for her safety, she ran forward. "Charming… _Charming_!" _

_Prince Charming turned around. "Snow…" _

_She grabbed the keys and opened his cell. It was only then that she realized that it was not her prince himself, but a mirror displaying his image._

_"You're… no… no… oh, _no_!" Snow White cried, her pure heart breaking with sorrow._

_Her prince spoke. "The Queen took me to her palace," he said._

_"But I'm rescuing you," Snow White replied, her voice full of sadness._

_"Snow..." Charming's face expressed his regret and fear for his love._

_Snow White sighed, her voice soft. "Is this always going to be our life? Taking turns finding each other?"_

_Her prince smiled softly. "We'll be together, I know it. Have faith."_

_Just then, his image disappeared, to be replaced by the Evil Queen. "I just had to stop you," She cackled. "I have no interest in cleaning tongue marks off my mirror!"_

_Snow White stepped forward, defiant. "Let him go. Your fight is with me."_

_Regina smiled. "My thoughts exactly. Have you ever heard of a parley?" she asked. "We break off all this messy fighting and have a little talk, just you and me. Come unarmed." _

_"Where do I meet you?" Snow White asked, resigned to her fate._

_"Where it all began," The queen replied, grinning wickedly._

* * *

Henry looks at the beautifully painted image accompanying this portion of Snow White and Prince Charming's story; that of Snow in front of a mirror, her face broken and sad as she looks at the reflection of the Evil Queen. He goes to turn the page when there's a creaking sound. His head whips up to see two people stumble into the cave cell, the door slamming shut behind them.

"Mary Margaret?" Henry cries, dropping his book to the floor beside him and getting up. "David?"

The woman spins around, her drenched hair clinging to her forehead, but her eyes alight with both joy and surprise as she gazes upon her grandson. "Henry!" she cries, rushing over to him and capturing him in a hug. Henry wraps his arms around her, breathing in the warm, comforting scent of his 'grandmother'. David comes up behind them, encasing the two in his own arms, and they stay like that for who-knows-how-long, relaxing slightly in the comfort of family.

Finally Mary Margaret leans back, releasing him, although her hand lingers on Henry's shoulder. The young boy tilts his head to the side. "What are you guys doing here?" he asks, his voice both worried and curious.

"We were taken by mermaids," David says, rubbing a gradually-forming bruise on his temple. "After we saved the dwarves from them."

"What?"

Mary Margaret slid down onto the bench Henry had been sitting on before, and Henry quickly sat beside her, soon followed by David. "We should probably explain," she says.

Henry nods.

"When you went missing," Mary Margaret begins, "Emma went out to look for you. She…uh… she ended up on Hook's ship, and something happened, causing it to fall through a portal, landing here. We followed her to search for the both of you, and we were taken by mermaids during our search."

Henry nods again, but his brow furrows. "Uh…where is _here_, exactly? I've been stuck in this cell the entire time."

"Davy Jones' Locker," David says.

Henry's eyes light up. "Like from Pirates of the Caribbean!" he says.

David's face is unreadable. "Hook's past, actually."

"What?" Henry grabs his storybook from where he'd dropped it and flips through the pages, scanning desperately. When he comes to the end, he frowns. "His story isn't in the book. Not that part."

Mary Margaret puts a hand on her grandson's shoulder. "Before we get into explaining everything about Hook," she chuckles a little, even in the grimness of the situation, "Can you tell us how you got here?"

Henry looks surprised, but immediately agrees. "Okay," he says. "That's probably a good idea."

* * *

Henry rolled over in his bed in the loft of Mary Margaret, Emma and David's apartment, unable to sleep. His ears buzzed, and the usual drone of crickets outside was missing. He pulled his pillow over his head, attempting to block out whatever the strange buzzing noise was, but that only made whatever it was clearer. It was a melody, almost – a song.

As the song became more and more clear to the ten-year-old, he found himself listening intently, and his feet somehow made their way to the ground beside his bed. He stood up, not entirely in control of his own actions, but heading towards the door – feet strangely silent on the hardwood. Along the way, Henry grabbed his backpack, although his fingers almost missed the strap as he was tugged by some unseen force towards the door.

He crept silently down the stairs. His mind was blank, white, a haze of nothing, his body moving without any way of controlling it.  
Henry's strange trance took him out of the apartment and down to the docks. As he neared, he was able to see a figure standing partially in the water. Her legs were obscured by the waves – wait, no, Henry thought, those aren't legs!

Sure enough, from waist downwards, the woman had long, dark black tentacles studded with tiny, iridescent blue jewels. The rest of her was a pale ivory, which was austere against the violet mane of hair held up in a mass above her head, kept up by a blue comb. Her face was ageless, although Henry got the niggling thought that she was probably very old.

Of course, he also knew who she was.

"You're Ursula!" Henry stated as he finally came to a stop at the edge of the docks. "What are you doing to me?"

Ursula did not reply, but as Henry stood there, six pairs of webbed hands slid out of the gently moving waves, reaching for Henry's feet.

They grabbed him by his ankles, and Henry stumbled, falling down into the water, which transformed into a spinning green vortex that crackled with energy as his feet hit it. Henry closed his eyes tight and hoped that his family is okay, that it's just him.

He hoped he can still be a hero.

* * *

When Henry opened his eyes again, he was standing knee-deep in a pool that is situated in a dimly lit cave. He looked up; saw Ursula standing there with a satisfied and somewhat grim look on her face. She pushed him down a tunnel and shoved him into a cell, which turned out to be a fairly large cave.

"Why are you doing this?" Henry asked, struggling out of her grip.

Ursula turned and locked the door to the cave, leaving him there, but just before she left, she looked at him and spoke. "For Calypso, of course," she said.

* * *

"After that, no one came to visit. I got food sometimes, though," Henry finishes. He shrugs. "I haven't learned anything else."

Mary Margaret stares at her grandson, a look of shock flooding over her face that's no match for the one when he first began. "Ursula is working for Calypso?" she asks, eyes widening.

David nods, resting his hand on Mary Margaret's back, Henry sandwiched between the two. "It does make sense," he admits. "Ursula is a sea witch; it's only fitting that she'd work for a sea goddess like Calypso. We heard of her work from neighbouring kingdoms."

"Hook never said anything about that part of the story, though," Mary Margaret comments.

David looks at his wife. "Hook didn't say anything to us about his story at all."

Henry twists his head to see his grandfather looking fairly confused. "I think I get it," he says. "Davy Jones' is Captain Hook's dad, and now he's supposed to take his father's job because Calypso is telling him to, but he doesn't want to. So she has to get help from other people."

"But why?" Mary Margaret wonders aloud. "Why would she take you and Emma? It doesn't make any sense."

Henry shakes his head. "I dunno . Mayb –"

Just then, the door to the cell swings open, and a woman walks in. She's tall and lithe, with scarlet locks tumbling over her shoulders and dulled green eyes. She does not speak, but walks over to Henry and yanks him out of his seat with surprising strength, snapping a pair of shackles around his wrist.

"Henry!" Mary Margaret cries, but the shackles attached to the wall behind her find her wrist and magically attach, keeping both her and David immobile. "Henry!" she shouts again.

Henry looks over his shoulder as he's dragged away,

The woman takes Henry down a series of winding tunnels until they finally reach an open cave. A large pit of water sunk into the ground is situated in one corner, not too far away from a towering throne that appears to be made of marble and aquamarine. Calypso sits on it, her dress flowing over her legs and pooling around her feet, and her eyes are unreadable as she watches the two come in. The woman drops Henry at the foot of the throne, leaving him there, and steps back.

Henry can only watch, unable to get up the effort to move – it's as if the shackles have some sort of magic weight to them. Calypso nods to the woman. "You are dismissed," she says. "Thank you, Ariel."

* * *

**A/N: ****Reviews are my preciousessssss.**


	22. (The Sound Of) Your Loneliness

**A/N: T****his chapter is set BEFORE Killian leaves Neverland for the second time after getting Ariel's help. It's a little after he first met her.**

******Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Twenty-Two:  
**(The Sound Of) Your Loneliness

_Now there you go again you say_

_you want your freedom_

_Well who am I to keep you down_

_It's only right that you should_

_play it the way you feel it_

_But listen carefully to __**the sound of your loneliness**_

* * *

Sometime in Neverland, Killian found himself in Mermaid Lagoon – before he fell apart with the Lost Boys – and happens to meet a certain mermaid. He was sitting on the edge of the pool; not expecting anyone to bother him, when a sharp voice broke his train of thoughts, and a bright red head popped out of the surface of the waves.

* * *

_"Ariel," she said, introducing herself. A giggle escaped her lips._

_"Killian," Killian said. "No, actually, it's Hook."_

* * *

Ariel giggled again, a high-pitched squeal escaping her lips, and proceeded to call him Killian as much as possible. From then on, Killian found himself visiting the lagoon more often than not, finding peace with the (if incredibly annoying) mermaid that happened to be somewhat of a good listener (and incredibly annoying).

She'd make him lose the thoughts swirling around in his mind – thoughts of Milah, of revenge, of Bae, of anything of actual consequence –

* * *

_"Kiilllian…" Ariel drawled out slowly, a teasing glint in her eyes as she flicked some water at him. "Killiannn, what's bothering ya?"_

_Killian reached into the lagoon and splashed water right back at the mermaid. "Nothing," he said. "Stop pestering me, you fishwife."_

* * *

But his mood was lifted somewhat.

Or other times, she'd try to frighten him by swimming under the waves and then popping up.

* * *

_"Killian!" she'd cry. "Boo!"_

_Then she'd swim around to the other side of the rock he was perched on. "Killian!" she'd shriek. "Got ya!"_

* * *

Killian would say nothing; just wait for her antics to stop. He didn't particularly like how (incredibly annoying) Ariel could be, but her typically lighthearted nature somehow uplifted his own dark thoughts – thoughts that swam to the surface of his mind more often than not, since he'd arrived in Neverland the second time.

She never tried to drag him in the water, never tried to drown him or maim him or kill him like so many of the other beasts in Neverland liked to do – like so many of the other mermaids liked to do in the past – he'd noticed that he hadn't seen any ones other than Ariel recently. He finally confronted her about it one day, speaking up for the first time in a while.

"Fish," Killian began.

"Yep?" Ariel poked her head up from the surface. "What's it, Killian?"

Killian eyed the mermaid, taking in her straggly locks that fell past her chest, down to her waist – well, where her tail formed – and the multiple necklaces strung around her neck – she was a mermaid, alright. So why... "You've never tried to harm me," he remarks. "Why is that?"

Ariel's face faded somewhat as she fluttered back in the water, crossing her arms behind her head to hold it up as she lay on the surface. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe I'm keeping you alive because I need you."

"Need me?" Killian looked dubious.

"Not like that, silly," Ariel giggled. Then stopped. "But…well, once I loved a man – a sailor, a blue-blood. He looked an awful lot like you; dark hair, bright eyes. Y'know."

"And I remind you of him?"

Ariel laughed. "Oh, definitely not! You mope too much, Killian, it makes your pretty face turn upside down. Not very easy on the eyes. But the man I loved, he was killed."

Killian picked up a rock and chucked it into the water. "Should I find fear in the fact that you've mentioned me and a dead man in the same sentence, fish? You don't sound very sad about his death."

"Nope! And I'm not," Ariel says, "not anymore, not really. You'll find that time will do much for your pain, Killian, unless you want the pain to stay. Mermaids aren't supposed to fall in love, after all. It was nothing of consequence."

"Then, if you don't mind my asking, how did he die?" Killian asked. _How can she be so callous about her love? It's as if she cared nothing for him._

Ariel quirks her lip. "A sea witch – sorceress – murdered him. She and I have always hated one another. I can't recall why, it's been so long. But after she did so, she decided she wanted to rule us mermaids. And she did."

"You're free now, then," Killian says.

She laughs. "Free? What a funny word, Killian! Oh, yes, we are free to move, to live, but it's not much of a life, not when she cursed us," She catches his questioning gaze. "We rebelled, not too long into her rule. It seems a sorceress is no match for a group of very angry mermaids – and a curse we concocted. She's half-fish now, much like us – although awfully ugly. Hehe, maybe as ugly as _yoouuu_ when ya pout!"

"Aye, but what about your freedom?" Killian ignored her teasing barb.

Ariel smiles sadly. "_My_ freedom came at a price – before Ursula could be banished to another land, she cursed us. Cursed our voices, our song – we would be able to speak, for once, but our voices would be deadly, and our songs? Our songs would kill."

"You became sirens," Killian remarked.

"Not me," Ariel replies. "I was on land at the time, still mourning my love, and it only affected those of us in the oceans. When I came back, I lost my legs, but didn't succumb to my curse – except I was the only mermaid left," she swam back and forth in the waters.

Killian raised an eyebrow. "You said she cursed them – not controlled them. Where are your sisters now?"

Ariel's laugh had bitter undertones, and Killian began to realize that they were more of a cover for her pain than actual happiness. "She took their free will along with their true voices! Took them away from me, far away, to another realm."

Killian sighed. "I know the feeling of being alone very well. It's not a curse I would wish on anyone."

"Which is why I haven't killed you!" Ariel said. She swam up to the rock and rested her arms on it, looking up at him. "I vowed to save my sisters. And I will," she said firmly. "Count on it."

"I know the ins and outs of revenge," Killian agreed. "I won't stop you."

Ariel laughed. "You'll help me! I know you won't be on this island forever, but someday, I can assure you, we'll meet again. And when we do, it's very likely, Killian, that I'll need your help in the matter."

"Aye," Killian say slowly. "You vow not to ever kill me or harm anything important to me – if I help you sometime in the future."

"That's it, Killliann!" Ariel shrieked. Then she ducked under the water, only to pop up a few seconds later. "Things to do now, see ya!"

Killian shook his head.

_Mermaids_.

Or, well, _mermaid_.

* * *

**A/N: ****A big review hug for the nice fanfic-author that finished the fic and has promised daily updates? Yes? Yes. :)**


	23. All These Words

**A/N: This is my new favourite chapter.**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd be writing fanfiction if I owned them? The characters are just going to be played around with a li'l bit. Let's hope that Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis don't kill me if I do drastic things. If my updates aren't on time, you'll know.**

**Chapter Twenty-Three:  
**All These Words

_All this time we were waiting for each other_

_All this time I was waiting for you_

_We got all these words, can't waste them on another_

_Got all this love, can't waste it on another_

_So I'm straight in a straight line running back to you_

* * *

It doesn't take long after Calypso leaves Killian in the cave for him to spin on his heel and leave, knowing exactly where his feet are going, even if his mind isn't entirely aware. He walks, walks out of the cave, across miles of scorching desert with no water.

_Get to the ship,_ is his only thought.

_Get to the ship, sail to Isla Sirena._

_Get to the ship, sail to Isla Sirena, save Emma_.

It's all he can think about as he walks, not noticing his parched throat or his cracked, dry lips, the hunger that pits in his stomach or the ache than runs through his muscles. He walks, and he walks, and he dreams of killing Calypso – a slow death, a painful one, one that he can draw out to make her suffering the most possible.

_She won't hurt Emma_, Killian thinks.

_She can't._

_I won't let her._

The day passes and goes as he walks, night flooding through the sky, stars littered across its broad expanse. The light of dawn breaks on the horizon when he finally reaches the beach, the silhouette of the Jolly Roger visible in the distance. Killian pulls forth the last of his energy and runs, making for the ship.

His aching feet quake under him and Killian collapses on the shore, his fingers just barely skimming the waves lapping up on the shore. His eyes flicker between darkness and light, flashes appearing every few moments. Shouts, the sound of paddles hitting water, six pairs of rough arms latching around him, the sensation of being carried.

But after a while he can't stay awake any longer, and exhaustion claims him.

* * *

White light floods Killian's vision as he opens his eyes, and for a moment he thinks he's died, that he's gone on to another place, but then he remembers that he's in Davy Jones' Locker, and for sailors, this is the only land they'll ever reach after death.

So he opens them completely and lets the whiteness fade away until his surroundings are clear. He's in his cabin, and, from the looks of it, lying on his bed. His hooked arm – sans hook – rests beside his chest, which is bare and only partially covered by the sheets – and also tanned deeply, almost burned. Thankfully, he can feel that he's still wearing pants.

_What the bloody hell happened?_

Killian coughs, covering his mouth with his (still very weak) good hand. As he does, the door opens and a woman enters the room. Killian recognises her as Ruby. She carries a pitcher of water and a glass, and takes it over to the stand beside his bed, pouring a glass before handing it to him. She stares at him (glares is more accurate) while she does so.

"Surprised you're awake," she remarks. "You've been out for a good day and a half."

"What happened?" Killian croaks out.

"That's what we'd like to know," a voice comes from the entrance to his room, and Killian glances over. A man stands there, dark curly hair and wearing a grey shirt.

"_Neal_," Killian growls. He stares at the man that broke Swan – broke Emma.

Emma.

_Emma_.

Images dash through his mind, recounting everything that happened since they were taken by crabs. Arguing with Emma, sleeping with her in his arms, waking up with her gone, looking for Emma, finding her and realizing Calypso had taken her. Running back to the ship. Blacking out. Waking up here.

"Emma!" Killian cries and tries to sit up, his voice hoarse from dehydration. He's held back by a pair of handcuffs locking the forearm of his hooked hand to the bedpost. "Emma," he repeats, letting out a sigh and hitting his head back against the bedpost.

Ruby shoves a glass of water at him and he eagerly gulps it down – not liking having to rely on others, but knowing he needs his strength back.

Neal comes up to stand at the foot of Killian's bed. "Yes, Emma," he repeats. "Where is she?" he tone is obviously worried, and Killian only finds his anger growing as he sees this man – the same man he once was like a father to, that later abandoned him when he believed he would never change.

"Calypso took her," Killian says bitterly. "Good luck getting her back, _Baelfire_."

Shock hits Neal like a hurricane. "What?" he says. "What do you mean?"

Ruby turns from her place beside Killian's bed. "Maybe we should get the others here before interrogating the invalid pirate," she says. "I'll go get them."

The wolf-girl leaves the room, not sparing a glance for the friends – turned – enemies as she exists.

"You gonna tell us anything, Hook?" Neal asks.

Killian is startled at hearing his moniker again, after Emma took to calling him Killian, and it takes him a few seconds to respond. "Aye," he says. "I will. But only if you'll unchain me."

Neal shakes his head. "You're a pirate, _Hook_," he says. "We can't trust you."

Killian raises an eyebrow, still able to show snark, even when he's in such a weakened state. "My ship, my rules. I can help you find Emma. Do you really want to pass that opportunity up?"

Neal lunges. "_It's your fault Emma's gone_!" he yells. "If you hadn't just agreed to Calypso all those years ago, she never would have been in this mess! _And she never would have met you_."

The rage burns in his mind, but for once, Killian finds that it's not clouding his judgment because all he can think of is avenging Milah – it's clearing everything because he wants to save Emma. And that's the difference between the two, the strongest one – Milah is gone. He couldn't save her.

But Emma isn't.

And he still can do the right thing.

"You left Emma too," Killian remarks coldly. "You're the reason she couldn't believe – couldn't trust in her own family. I didn't leave her. I would have fought for her."

Neal grits his teeth. "I didn't want to!" he says. "But I had to. She had to save the others. It was her destiny."

"Destiny?" Killian barks. "That's a coward's dying argument if I've ever heard one. You _broke_ _her_, Baelfire. You're no better than your father – a coward through and through."

"And what are you?" Neal snaps back. "You're a _pirate_. You only fight for yourself."

"I would have fought for her!" Killian cries. "Because a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. And I'd have _fought_."

Neal stands there, glaring. Killian glares right back, icy blue stare dark and cold, but showing that he meant every single word he said.

"What the hell is going on?" Ruby yells, bursting into the room, followed by the dwarves, Jefferson and Whale. Killian raises his gaze to her.

_Can werewolves smell anger?_

Neither man replies, Neal shifting uncomfortably.

Ruby raises her arms. "Whatever it is, you two need to put your feud over Emma on hold for the moment. Okay? Because there's no Emma _to get back to_ if we don't find her and the others." She says sternly. "You listening?"

"What others?" Killian asks, caught by that particular snippet of her lecture.

It's one of the dwarves that speaks up – Leroy. "Mary Margaret and David were taken too," he says gruffly. "By mermaids."

Surprise flits across Killian's mind_. Taken? _He asks. _Mermaids? No, __**sirens**__, _he thinks_. The mermaids are a forgotten species._

Ruby puts her hands on her hips. "We'll tell you more once you tell us your story."

"Aye, fine," Killian says. "But it's not a particularly interesting one. Are you quite sure you want to hear it?"

"We have all the time in the world right now," Ruby says. "Minus a lot, since we need to find them all sooner rather than later. So start talking."

"Emma and I were taken by the crabs onto the mainland and into the middle of the desert. We set out for the ship, walked until night. Found a place to sleep –" he notices that Neal tenses at the mention of Emma, him and sleeping in the same sentence " – and when I woke up later she was gone. Now can you please unchain me?"

Ruby relents, and tosses a key to Jefferson. The hatter moves forward to untie Killian, adjusting his own loosely-tied cravat as he moves. Killian glares at him – in another life, perhaps, the two could have been very good friends, but not now, not when Emma's gone and the hatter is a little more than a nuisance. "Hat-boy," Killian says snarkily.

Jefferson eyes him, but does nothing except unlock the handcuffs. It's then that Killian sees a dark bruise forming around the man's eye, and that his nose seems slightly swollen. "What the bloody hell happened to you?" Killian hisses, not loud enough for the others to hear.

Jefferson pockets the handcuffs. "Neal," he says. "Word of advice; don't get on his bad side."

Killian raises an eyebrow, but nods. He'll take the hatter's counsel.

(Although he's pretty sure he could hit Neal before Neal gets him)

(And he really wants to test it)

(But he won't)

(For now)

As Jefferson steps away, everyone starts to head out of the room, murmuring quietly to themselves. It's then that Killian notices Gold's absence – his crocodile appears to have chosen not to put himself in a potentially tension-filled situation. Ruby stays behind, and it's only when everyone else is gone – including Neal, who shot Killian a particularly angry glare – that she steps forward.

"Your story has holes, Hook," Ruby says. "What are you leaving out?"

Killian grits his teeth, but, relying on his skill in lying, puts on a charming smile. "Nothing at all, sweetheart. I've been completely honest with you."

Ruby puts a hand on her hip. "You sure about that?"

Killian widens his smile, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes, and even he can sense the tension in it. "Positive," he replies, and then sits up a little as he gestures towards the door. "Now, unless you enjoy my charming company – mind you, I have no complaints about obliging your desires - you could be a dear and leave me in peace to kick off this bloody headache?"

Ruby's eyes flash gold. "You should hope for all of our sakes' that you've told us the entire story," she heads for the door, but stops midway.

"Oh, Hook?"

"Aye?" Killian looks up.

"Lay off on the flirting," she warns, and the gold shoots through her gaze again. "You and Neal already have your dispute over Emma, but you and I both know that your charming words are empty to anyone other than her. And besides, you wouldn't like me very much when the moon is full."

"Aye, wolf," Killian says. He leans back into the plush pillows.

Ruby gives him an irritating smile before opening the door. "Don't hurt Emma," she says softly. "I'm trusting you on that."

She's gone then, and he's left alone in his cabin, parched, unchained, shirtless and still incredibly weak. Not entirely fit for grand adventures.

So he immediately gets out of bed, doing his best to be silent, and slinks over to his chest of drawers. Killian changes quickly, attaching his leather brace (and hook, which was casually lying on his desk), pulling on his typical black shirt and a new pair of leather pants. A flash of colour catches his eye in the bottom of the chest, and he pulls it out. It's his red vest, something he hasn't worn since Milah died.

After a moment of hesitation, Killian puts that on too, then tugs his boots on, attaches his scabbard. He locks the door to his cabin, making sure no one will disrupt him, and sits at his desk to wait for nightfall.

"Isla Sirena…" he mutters, pouring over the maps scattered across the wood surface. "Isla Sirena…"

His finger comes to rest on a very, very small island shown to have a jungle-like climate. He looks at its coordinates; the landmarks around it.

"If you're supposed to be there.." he says slowly. "Why are you in the Locker?"

He spends the next two hours looking over the maps, surprised that he's not been disturbed by anyone, but quickly deducing that they're probably all bickering over the best way to find those that are missing. By the time the sun has set, Killian finds himself even more confused over why the mysterious Isla Sirena is in the Locker and not where it should be – which is floating above a certain aquatic realm only perhaps Jefferson has ventured into – so he rolls up the map and places it in a coat pocket.

Killian slowly creeps out of his cabin, opening and closing the door silently, and makes his way onto the main deck. He breathes a sigh of relief when it's vacant, and hurriedly goes over to one of the longboats, then climbs in. He lowers it, breathing another sigh when it hits the water with barely a splash.

As Killian pulls the oars out of the bottom of the boat and begins rowing away from the Jolly Roger, heading towards the island that the dwarves were sent to search the other day; the island he believes to be the one Calypso has summoned him to.

His mind is awhirl.

_You bested me. I can count the amount of people who've done that on one hand._

_I was hoping it'd be you._

_Don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second._

_Now you're going to be a gentleman?_

_You'd make a hell of a pirate._

_For someone who's never been in love, you're quite perceptive, aren't you?_

_I think we make quite the team._

_It's about bloody time._

_Try something new, darling. It's called trust._

_I can't take a chance that I'm wrong about you._

_You chose her._

_You would've done the same._

_Actually, no._

_Just as I'm done… with you.  
I'd pick you._

_None of the stories are accurate.  
No, they're not._

_It gets tiring after a while, doesn't it? Doing what we do best. Being alone._

_I just needed something to remind me._

_Remind you?_

_That I could have more to my life than revenge._

_It might make my spending the rest of my life in this land a little easier. To know that at least one person has no ill will towards me._

Her hand, gripping his. Comfort. Warmth.

_You're the first person I've confided in since Milah._

_You reminded me of myself, more so than any person I've met in all my years._

_For some inexplicable reason I think I can trust you._

The kiss, the heated, spontaneous kiss that left them both reeling, scared, angry, wanting more, confused.

_I will harm those you care about, make no mistake_

_Anger, arguing, swallowed by a sea of crabs. Their bodies, close together, heat burning in the atmosphere. Bitter words._

_She warned me that she'd hurt those I care for. Perhaps this is her way of carrying out that threat._

_It's not like he's your son or anything,_

_Goodnight, Killian._

"I bloody well love her," Killian says aloud, as if his newfound realization must be spoken to be true.

Then he pushes even harder on the oars, rowing as quickly as possible. "I love her," he repeats, almost distantly, as if he can't quite believe it.

And now that he knows, Killian also knows that he'll do anything for Emma.

* * *

**A/N: ****I bloody well love reviews. :)**


	24. Something You Can't Replace

**A/N: ****Apologies for any feels. That's all. ;)**

**THANK YOU ALL for being such great supporters of this fic with your kind reviews that make me fangirl over fangirling. :D**

**Disclaimer: I think we've covered this.**

**Chapter Twenty-Four:  
**Something You Can't Replace

_And the tears come streaming down your face  
_

_When you lose something you can't replace  
_

_When you love someone, _

_But it goes to waste_**  
**

* * *

Killian rows up to the shore of Isla Sirena, and then climbs out of the boat into knee-deep water, in order to pull the boat to shore. As soon as it's securely on the mainland, out of the reach of any underwater nasties, Killian turns towards the ocean again."You want a pirate?" he asks, shouting it out towards the ocean. "Here's the pirate!"

He unsheathes his sword and waves it around wildly. "C'mon!" he yells. "What are you waiting for?"

He stands on the shoreline for only a few more minutes until the waters near to where he stands start to churn, and two pairs of hands claw their way out of a portal. Their iridescent tail fins shine in the pale moonlight – that's strange, Killian notices. _There's a moon tonight – a_ full_ moon. Things here are changing._

Killian steps forward and wades into the deep, sheathing his sword again as he does so. The swirling pool the sirens had pulled themselves out of grows wider, as if to swallow him completely, and he forces his body to relax as their webbed fingers latch around his ankles and drag him into its depths. They'll take him to Calypso – as well as Emma, and, hopefully her parents and son as well.

* * *

Killian and the two sirens emerge in a fairly large tidal pool in a cave with low-hanging stalactites. The one of the two sirens that took him there holds him down in the water, and Killian resists the urge to struggle. The other one climbs out of the pool, her tail turning into a pair of shapely legs, clad in nothing but a white dress, and leaves for a moment. When she returns, she's accompanied by another figure – most likely a siren. The room is dark, and Killian is unable to see their features.

_Do not draw your sword,_ Killian says to himself, repeating the mantra over and over; _do not draw your sword. You'll get plenty of time to deal with them later, if need be._

The siren that had just arrived reaches into the pool and drags Killian out with surprising strength, and then motions to the other two to go away. They do, diving back into the pool – which he takes to be some sort of permanent underwater portal - and disappearing with a flick of their fins.

She fastens his hands firmly behind his back with a piece of seaweed that's frighteningly strong, and then tugs him along behind her like a dog on a leash. Killian complies, gritting his teeth as he stumbles on the rocky surface of the cave. _This is all for Emma,_ he thinks. Think of Emma.

The tunnel they walk down stretches for quite a ways, and it's only when a flicker of light ahead shows that Killian is finally able to make out the siren leading him - the red hair that appears to almost be ablaze, her signature feature. Hair he would recognise anywhere.

"Ariel," he whispers, half aloud, half to himself. _What have they done to you? _"Ariel!" he says loudly, trying to get her attention. She turns and looks at him, and it's only then when he realizes her gaze is vacant, unseeing. Ariel does not speak, and when her eyes meet his, there is no sign of recognition, her eyes empty.

She doesn't remember, Killian thinks. Is that what Calypso has done to them?

_But no,_ he thinks, _Calypso may be a sea goddess, but she has no power over mermaids – or sirens, for that matter._ _Only one sorceress does, and she was supposed to have been banished to another world, long ago_. Killian remembers the story.

Ariel and Killian soon emerge into a larger cave, a throne at one end, a pool beside it. Killian's shoulders tighten as he recognises the figure perched on the throne – the first time he's ever seen her, and not just a projection. Her clothes are elaborate, her dark eyes seeing all.

Beside her stands another woman – and through the slashes running up her indigo gown, Killian can see that her 'legs' resemble tentacles; her skin almost ghost-white, hair the same tone as her dress. She's curvy and tall, with a commanding demeanor that fills the room – not so much as Calypso, but still a noticeable presence.

He's never met the woman, but as soon as he sees her, the pieces click into place – Ariel's amnesia, the sirens, the inexplicable magic, Emma losing her power of speech – _Ursula_.

At her feet, a boy is slumped over, hands bound.

_Henry_, Killian thinks. He struggles, calls out the boy's name – " _Henry!"_ he cries, and in that moment, almost completely forgets his purpose for coming here – to hand himself in. To save Emma.

The boy looks up, his gaze sad, but curious when he sees the pirate.

"Henry," Killian repeats. "Your mother. _Emma_. She's been looking for you."

Henry's face brightens somewhat at the mention of Emma. Then Ursula jumps in, and Killian is surprised at the power in her voice – but no, she's the type. "She won't be looking for him anymore," she says, cackling. "She's a little… _incapacitated_ at the moment."

Killian struggles once again against his bindings, trying to move forward, but Ariel grabs onto the collar of his jacket and holds him back – even as she does, he can feel some sort of magical shield surrounding the immediate vicinity of the throne.

"_Emma_!" he yells, and when he still can't move, "You're a witch_._"

"She can't hear you from here, Killian Jones," Calypso says from her place on the throne. "You may yell all you want, but it will fall on deaf ears."

"What do you want?" Killian snaps.

Calypso smiles. "I want what I always have – your allegiance to me, and to your rightful job."

Killian looks up at her, his eyes almost pleading. "After all this years, why didn't you just force me?"

"The task must be taken willingly, just like it was for your father, the first caretaker," Calypso says. "Much magic only works if it is enacted by a willing victim. The choice is yours."

"Why should I listen to you?" Killian asks, but his words have little menace to them.

"Because if you don't, your precious _Swan_ will die," Calypso says. She shows no remorse at this fact.

Henry cries out when he hears this, but Ursula waves a hand, and he's silenced. The next time the lad opens his mouth, no sound comes out, and Killian grinds his teeth together at the sight. _I'm going to bloody kill her_, he thinks.

"I say yes, I take the job, and Emma lives?" Killian asks, his eyes hard. "That's the deal you want to make?"

Calypso nods and she tilts her head to the side in an almost satisfied manner. "If you agree, I won't harm a single hair on Emma's head," she says.

Killian lets out a sigh and hangs his head. He knew this would be the choice he would have to make when he came here – when he left the Jolly Roger, he knew exactly what was going to happen if he was going to save Emma.

"Aye," Killian says softly. "I'll do it."

Calypso hears his words, even at his quite tone, and she nods to Ursula.

"Take him to the cell," Ursula says, waving to the Ariel. "We'll deal with him soon enough."

Killian lets himself be dragged off by Ariel, his feet scuffing against the ground as she tugs him out of the throne room – where Henry miserably watches him go – and into a tunnel branching off, the sides and end of the corridor lined with wooden doors. She takes a key from around her neck and unlatches the third one. After opening the door, she takes his hook, sword and jacket, and then shoves him inside the cell.  
Killian lies on the ground, staring up at the dripping ceiling of the cave. He slowly sits up. _Why did they put me in here? _He thinks. _I agreed to do their bloody bidding. What purpose is there in locking me up?_

He gradually sits up, rubbing the bump on the back of his head that came from his rough handling, and looks around the cell. It vaguely reminds him of the Dark One's cell back in the Enchanted Forest, although is slightly smaller, with no view to the outside. The corners are draped in shadows.

_Alone, and in a cell, with no way of knowing if Emma is even alright. _Killian groans. _Where is Calypso keeping her?_

He looks around the cell some more, squinting into the shadows.

_No_, he thinks.

**_No_**_._

**_It can't be._**

"No, _oh_, bloody hell, _no!_" Killian cries, scrambling forward in his haste to check if what he sees is true. "_Emma_," he whispers forlornly.

Her still form lies in the back of the cave, obscured by the shadows. She lies there peacefully, her eyes softly shut, golden hair splayed out around her. Killian reaches out, touches her cheek. Finds it to be cold. He grabs her shoulders, tries to shake her, wake her up. She doesn't.

She could be dead.

_I came all this way, made all those deals, just to save her life, and then I find that she's already gone?_

Killian looks up from Emma's prone body and shouts. "_CALYPSO!_" he screams, over and over until his voice is hoarse. "_What have you done to her?_"

Calypso's ghostly image appears in the cell, and Killian glowers up at her as he cradles Emma in his arms. "You said you wouldn't harm a hair on her head," the anger is obvious in his tone.

Calypso reaches into a fold of her dress and holds something – a single blond lock. "I kept my deal, Killian," she says.

Killian screams again, brows slanted, harsh, his voice pained. He's so angry he feels as if he could tear apart his entire ship. Angrier, almost, than when his bloody crocodile killed Milah. If he thought he knew pain then, it was nothing compared to now.

The fury and grief spreads over his heart like an ominous black cloud, not consuming him, but breaking him even more than before. More than when his father died, more than when he found about his mother's murder, more than when Baelfire chose the Lost Boys over him, more than when Emma abandoned him up on that beanstalk. More than he ever thought to be possible.

Calypso does not show a reaction to Killian's outburst, just waits patiently for his voice to grow ragged.

"What's wrong with Emma?" Killian finally asks, breathing heavily. "What did you do?"

"As a matter of fact, it was Ursula," Calypso says. "She got a sleeping curse from her dearly departed friend Maleficent."

_A sleeping curse? _Killian thinks; but…**no**…

"The thing about sleeping curses, Killian Jones, is that they can only be broken by true love's kiss," Calypso remarks, folding her hands calmly.

"Your Emma is such a broken thing, really – she hasn't had much love, has she? Besides, even if you love her, it wouldn't make any difference. True love is two sided, as I'm sure you're aware."

Her image fades away, leaving Killian by himself in the cell, but for the eternally-sleeping Emma. He gently lowers her back down to the floor of the cell, taking off his red vest and folding it under her head. Killian leans back against the cave wall, closing his eyes as if to block out the ache of knowing he'll never see Emma again.

He knows Calypso's words are true – _true love has to be reciprocated._

And Emma would never choose him, even if he does love her.

No one would choose him.

He's a pirate, and if his three hundred plus years have taught him anything, pirates are meant to be alone.

* * *

**A/N: ****Rewards go to those who wait, and while reviews may not break Emma's sleeping curse, they're an excellent reward for a person that just got out of classes today...**


	25. (Edge of the Unknown) Impossibly Alone

**A/N: Last flashback!**

**Disclaimer: We've been over this.**

**Chapter Twenty-Five:  
**[Edge of the Unknown] Impossibly Alone

_When you were standing in the wake of devastation_

_When you were waiting on __**the edge of the unknown**_

_And with the cataclysm raining down_

_Insides crying, "Save me now!"_

_You were there; __**impossibly alone**_

_Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?_

_You build up hope, but failure's all you've known_

* * *

Pain. Pain filled his vision, his mind; his entire consciousness – or, in this case, his unconsciousness, for surely this pain would be doubled tenfold when he awoke. He remembered everything as clear as if it had happened only moments before – and it could have been, for he didn't know how long he'd been asleep – and the memories were bittersweet.

The sharp sound of a gun going off, a resentful smile, then the sound of glass smashing, being flung into space, landing, and then pain, only pain and blackness.

Then, a brief few moments of clarity –_ "Hey beautiful,"_ he had said, the flickering image of the Swan girl coming into view. His throat being pressed by a cane, Rumpelstiltskin's furious face, air being squeezed from his lungs, then sweet lungfuls of oxygen rushing in as he blacked out.

_"Hide him!"_ someone screamed; _she_ screamed, _"Find a room and hide him!"_

The jostling motion of being carried shook him back to the realm of consciousness for a few moments, but soon enough a mask fell over his face and he breathed in automatically, succumbing to sleep.

That was where he drifted now, his mind fluttering here and there. It was a jumble of thoughts, of emotions – satisfaction, he'd hurt his crocodile's heart – but pain, mostly pain. His broken heart hadn't mended like he thought it would have after causing such quality damage to his foe – if anything, it only broke it even more.

Then, startling light – a figure appearing amidst the darkness.

"Killian Jones, you are a foolish man," Calypso said, the image of her face flickering in his mind as he sleeps. "You still believe that revenge will bring you all you wish for."

"You're wrong," Killian said, speaking to the vision in his pain-filled mind. "Revenge is all I've thought of for almost three hundred years. It _is_ all I wish for. I have no other focus in my life."

"And yet you should. Your duty to Davy Jones' Locker precedes all others you may imagine up," she replied.

"I care not."

Calypso shakes her head. "The pain you feel now is nothing compared to what you will feel if you continue to disobey me."

"I have told you before, my pain is nothing to me," Killian said.

"And I have told you my answer before, _the pain will not be your own_," Calypso snapped. "I will not harm you now; rather, I will leave you here with your thoughts and your pain, and you will eventually come to obey me. You chose a foolish path, Killian Jones."

"I don't regret it," Killian replied.

Calypso's smile was acrid. "You will," she said.

Gone, then, she left him with his thoughts and his pain as she had told him she would. Killian wandered the empty recesses of his mind as he waited for consciousness to finally claim him again; bring him back to the realm of the living,

As he wandered, he was reminded of Calypso's words – and that they had a startling parallel to Cora's when he met her after descending the beanstalk.

You chose a foolish path.

_You chose her._

* * *

Two sirens, including the one that had first taken Henry, lead Mary Margaret and David out of their cell and into the throne room. They'd been taken minutes earlier, passing besides the rows of other cells as they walked.

The two are pushed and prodded into the expansive cave that Calypso resides in, and Mary Margaret gazes around, taking in the space. Her eyes land on Henry crumpled at Ursula's feet, and her vision reddens, a red mist clouding her eyes. She lunges, struggling out of her captor's grip and runs for the boy.

"Henry!" Mary Margaret screams, her voice hoarse as she stumbles on the ground; hitting an invisible force field that surrounds the area, and notices Calypso raising a hand. She drops to the ground in defeat and hears but doesn't see David's footsteps as the other siren lets him go and he comes over to kneel beside her.

She looks up at Calypso; face hard but eyes red-rimmed. "Why are you doing this?" she asks pleadingly, sadly. She's unable to understand why the goddess can cause so much pain and not even see the effects of it – even Regina, and, to some extent, Cora, were able to see that their doings were wrong. "You're even more wicked than Cora."

Calypso shakes her head and rests her arms on the sides of the marble throne, looking at Mary Margaret as if she's never seen a human act this way before.

"I am not wicked at all, Snow White," she says finally, carefully. "I would much prefer not to cause whatever trauma has befallen you. But Killian Jones refused to heed my requests for a countless number of years, and I warned him of the dangers of doing so. He's simply receiving his just desserts, and it is not a fault of mind if Ursula is excellent at what she does – causing pain."

"And yet you stand by and let her do it," Mary Margaret says. "How can you do this?"

"I have no other choice," Calypso states, although her face flickers with uncertainty for a second. The emotion disappears as though she'd never shown it in the first place almost as soon as it appears, though.

"But…" Mary Margaret sighs, feeling David's quiet support from behind her. "Why are you doing this?"

The sea goddess taps her fingers lightly on the marble before turning her head to face Mary Margaret once again. "I will tell you a story," she says, her face grim, "and at the end of it, you will tell me whether or not you believe my actions are indeed justifiable."

Mary Margaret gives a silent nod. She has no other choice, really, and Snow White is well aware that it's best to hear the story before placing your full judgment upon a situation.

"Davy Jones was not always a coward. He was once a man, a man able to love," Calypso begins sadly, her voice haunted, as if the topic is a personal one for her…

* * *

_"There was a sea goddess, as harsh and untameable as the sea itself. Nevertheless, she fell deeply in love with Davy Jones, and wished to spend the rest of her life with him. But her position demanded that she also command the seas, so she asked her love to carry out the duty of ferrying souls drowned at sea to the afterlife, to give her the freedom to be with him._

_As a reward for carrying out a decade of service, Jones would be reunited with her for a single day, and if she was faithful, he could come and go on land or sea, as he wished to, forevermore. He remained true to his word, and spent the next ten years faithfully carrying out his duty. _  
_But she was not waiting for him when he returned to the land of the living, however, as her very_ nature_ would not allow her to wait, much as she desired to. The man became bitter and angry, retreating to the land._

_He fell in love with another who bore him a son, and refused to ever do his job again. Angry, the goddess cursed him, but her anger overtook her and the curse killed him, breaking both her heart and her conscience with it. But the nature of the task Davy Jones had taken from the goddess meant that it required a successor to take up the job. And so it was passed on to Davy Jones' child."_

* * *

Mary Margaret swears she can see tears in Calypso's eyes, and as she hears Calypso's last words of explanation, the pieces fall into place.

"Do you know who the child was?" Calypso asks."

Mary Margaret's answer comes out as barely a whisper. "Hook," she says.

David starts behind her, but his wife sees him out of the corner of her eye and can see the puzzle solving itself as he thinks the situation over.

Calypso smiles weakly. "And now Captain Hook can never leave his post now that he's agreed – the cycle can only be broken if another takes upon the task."

"How can that be done?" Mary Margaret asks, probing for more answers out of the elusive sorceress.

Her smile weakens even more. "A man, any man, not just a heir, must cut out his own heart. He must bind himself to the job for eternity. It will grant him immortality – but it means sacrificing a life of freedom."

"Why should we care about what happens to the pirate?" David asks; his tone cold.

Mary Margaret twists to face her husband, confused and angry. "We should care if he loves our daughter!" she cries.

David raises an eyebrow. "Emma?"

"No, the other daughter I never told you about," Mary Margaret says, sarcasm showing in the intensity of their situation. "Yes, Emma."

"Hook…loves Emma?" David tries out the words cautiously. Beside the throne, Henry lifts his head, looking up, although Ursula shoves him back down. No one notices.

"I tried to tell you before," Mary Margaret says softly. "I'm her mother, and even if it hasn't been for very long...we know these things."

Calypso's face has turned back to anger during Mary Margaret and David's exchange. "Enough!" she says sharply. She motions to Ariel, who stands along the back wall, waiting patiently. "Send them back to their cell," she orders.

Ursula turns to the door, her dress swishing around her tentacle-like legs. "Aquata!" she calls. "Andrina, Arista, Attina, Adella and Alana, come!"

Soon six sirens appear in the doorway, with raging physiques and looks, but equally unearthly beauty, and look to Ursula for instructions.

"Back to their cell," Ursula commands.

"Give Henry his voice back," David says in the authoritative tone of a once-prince.

Ursula rolls her eyes but waves a hand and Henry coughs for a few moments before clearing his throat. He nods weakly at David and gives him a feeble thumbs-up.

They move forward, and two take Mary Margaret by her arms, two each also grabbing Henry and David. As they drag them out of the room, Mary Margaret catches a good look at her captors' faces and realizes that they are the same sirens that originally lured the dwarves into the ocean.

As the group pass through the cellblock, Henry glances up at the cells as they pass by.

_"If you agree, I won't harm a single hair on Emma's head," Calypso says._

_"Aye," Killian says softly. "I'll do it."_

_"Take him to the cell," Ursula says, waving to the Ariel. "We'll deal with him soon enough."_

A spark forms in Henry's mind.

_Regina stood in her chamber and held open the book of spells she'd stolen from her mother, gazing upon it's cryptic words in the moonlight._

_"Rumpelshtil- Rumpelshtilshin, I summon thee," she said._

The spark grows.

Before he can be taken into the cell, possibly never to see the light of day again, Henry pretends to trip so that he can be released for a few precious seconds.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" he screams at the top of his lungs, ignoring the odd looks from his grandparents. "Rumpelstiltskin, I summon thee!"

* * *

**A/N: What's Henry up to? Let's just say I've been setting puzzle pieces up since the beginning. **

**Calypso's story is very similar to hers in **_Pirates of the Caribbean**, **_**but for the whole tentacle-thing. [Neither Davy Jones nor Killian have or will be half-fish. That's Ariel.]**

_**I summon thee, reviews.**_


	26. You've Seen This All Before

**A/N: ****Reviewers, followers, all of you: LOVE YA GUYS. Your reviews make my day every time I read one. :)**

**Disclaimer: We've been over this.**

**Chapter Twenty-Six:  
**You've Seen This All Before

_You're not as brave as you were at the start_

_Rate yourself and rake yourself_

_Take all the courage you have left_

_Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head_

_Tremble for yourself, my man,_

_You know that **you have seen this all before**_

_You'll never settle any of your scores_

* * *

Killian hears the voice of a young boy from where he leans against the wall in the cell and starts at the sound of his enemy's name. _Is that Henry,_ he wonders; _what's the lad up to?_

He looks over at Emma's slumbering form and squeezes his eyes shut.

Now, he supposes, he'll just have to hope for death, and wait until Calypso comes to collect him.

* * *

Gold stands on the deck of the Jolly Roger, looking over the side as the wind ruffles his hair, his hand on his cane. He's been spending more and more time trying to force down the demons tha the Locker brings out in him; knowing full well that if he lets them out for any dark purpose that he'll never regain his true self again – not without true love's kiss, and his true love is back in the hospital in Storybrooke.

Why are you here? They whisper at him.

_Why are you helping them?_

_Why are you helping him?_

_It would be so much easier._

_Just let us in._

_Listen to us._

_Hear us._

He thinks, perhaps, that the sound of the Dark One trying to claw and persuade it's way to the surface almost reminds him of the sound of a siren's song, but for the fact that this is no enchanting melody – it's a painful one.

So Gold tries to think of nothing in particular, which is why the call of his name rings loud and clear in his mind.

_Henry_, he thinks.

_My grandson. My own flesh and blood._

With that, Gold makes a decision, and disappears in a cloud of magic.

* * *

Killian sullenly recalls Calypso's almost-victorious face when she'd seen his anguish over finding Emma. _I'll kill her,_ he thinks. _I've said it over and over, but I will kill that bloody sea witch, and all that will be left of her will be the leftover residue of her magic._

At the same time, though, the hope of such a venture quickly fades from him, because he's gone up against magic-users before, and even three hundred years of life, of training, of love and loss and pain and anger and vengeance cannot help him when it comes to fighting with magic.

"A sad sight, indeed, the great Captain Hook in pain," a voice comes from the wall nearby to him and Killian looks up.

Gold leans against the wall, looking nonchalant – but no, it's not the pawnbroker now. It's his enemy, Rumpelstiltskin, and although he still wears a full suit, he's without a cane, and his skin has turned to green-gold scales, eyes sharper.

_Like a crocodile_, Killian thinks. _No different from when I first met you._

The angry thoughts swarm his mind, and without thought but for the age-old fact that _this is the being that caused this, this is my enemy, this is the creature I should be fighting _– Killian leaps up, his face becoming a storm cloud. He lunges for Rumpelstiltskin, slashing his hook wildly in the air. The crocodile disappears and appears on the opposite wall, still leaning casually against it, and Killian just barely prevents himself from slamming into the space on the wall just recently vacated.

"Not today, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin says brightly, and Killian turns, clenching his fists as he resists the urge to lunge again.

"You know," the Dark One taps his finger on his chin for a moment. "This reminds me of something! Ah, yes, your lovely Miss Swan's mother and father. Her father dueled me, you know," he cocks his head ot the side. "Too bad you and her aren't true loves like those two, because then allll your problems would-be-solved!"

Killian glares, and takes a step forward. Rumpelstiltskin doesn't move, but gives a cheeky smile. Killian moves the last few steps and latches his fingers around the other man's throat, squeezing tightly, teeth gritted, eyes hazy.

"I…can…help…" Rumpelstiltskin says, gasping out the words. "Don't…want to…pass up…that…dearie."

"Why would you want to help?" Killian snaps angrily, not loosening his grip but not squeezing any more.

Rumpelstiltskin looks down as much as their postion lets him and attempts a sigh. "Perhaps, Captain, I'm trying to make up for my past faults," then, quieter, "Perhaps I'm giving true love another chance."

Killian lets go and then presses his hook against the crocodile's throat. "You're lying," he growls.

"On the contrary," Rumpelstiltskin says. "I'm not. I made a promise to my boy."

"You were never one to keep promises," Killian says – he remembers it very well –

_"The magic bean in exchange for our lives. Deal?" Milah asked._

The next words Rumpelstiltskin chokes out seem difficult for him to say. "I'm sorry," he says sadly. "I'm so, so sorry."

Killian steps back, the anger in his eyes having faded somewhat. He looks down, then looks up with a hooded gaze. "Why would you want to help Emma and I?" he asks, gesturing to her prone form at the back of the cave. "What do you get out of it?"

Rumpelstiltskin looks at Killian as if he's seeing a different man. "To quote the past," he says, "I'm a fan of true love…and, more importantly, what it creates."

Killian realizes that this time, this moment, has mirrored when Milah died entirely; except that in this case, Emma is not Milah and is not dead by the crocodile's hand. Before he can speak, Rumpelstiltskin vanishes, but the cloud of magic that takes him away is the first time Killian has seen any other colour than purple or red –

– this time, it's white.

* * *

_Perhaps_, Killian thinks, _even the crocodile can find his redemption._

Killian slowly turns to look at Emma. _What do I have to lose? My life is already forfeit._

_Perhaps_, he thinks_, the pirate can too._

* * *

**A/N: Gold warned us all - the Locker does things to people, especially those with their own personal demons. **

**Try something new, darling, it's called reviews. :)**


	27. Believing (If Only For It's Sake)

**A/N: If anyone hasn't listened to this Captain Swan mix: (8tracks)/lostdandelion/why-does-love-always-feel- like-a-b a ttlefield you need to ****_now._**** I listened to it over and over writing this chapter and it's utterly beautiful. It's also entirely instrumental, which is great for writing.**

**Disclaimer: We've been over this.**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven:  
**Believing (If Only for It's Sake)

_This one's for the lonely, the ones that seek and find_

_Only to be let down, time after time_

_This one's for the torn down, the experts at the fall_

_Come on friends get up now, you're not alone at all_

_This one's for the faithless, the ones that are surprised_

_They're only where they are now regardless of their fight_

_This one's for** believing, if only for it's sake**_

* * *

Calypso taps her long nails against the arm of her throne, then exhales and threads her fingers through her ebony locks, blinking back the pained tears before they can fall. She surreptitiously glances over at Ursula, who is now appearing bored after having sent her siren underlings to guard the perimeter of the island.

The sea witch – a sorceress whose power is much less than her own, a once-queen dethroned by her own subjects, a mere minion now – may be her ally at this point in time, but Calypso does not trust the woman more than she trusts anyone else.

Calypso makes a point of not trusting anyone after being burned in the past. She trusted that man, Davy Jones, he was her love, but when she couldn't wait for him – a problem due to her very nature, impossible to control – he betrayed her. Took a new wife, had a child, a family, scorned her name and left its ashes in his wake, scattered along an abandoned beach. He found comfort with her, that _Wendy Darling_.

Do not misconceive her intentions; however, Calypso's long-winded fight with Killian Jones has nothing to do with his father's infidelity. She has no choice but to have a caretaker for the Locker, it's in the very laws she is bound by, and if the results of such a mission happen to bring pain upon the Jones family –_ much like pain was brought upon her_ – it's simply a benefit of the operation.

_I am not wicked,_ Calypso thinks, recalling her discussion with the Saviour's mother earlier, _but I have no control over the wickedness of my actions._

_I am not_ – just then, a rush of wind spreads through the cave in a shattering of pure, blinding white magic, the magic falling over Calypso and Ursula, blowing their hair back in one powerful gust of pure power.

Ursula's head snaps up and she spins to look at Calypso. "Did you feel that?" she says loudly, glowering with rage. "_Did you feel that?_"

Calypso slowly shakes her head. "I did," she says. "But it's magic unlike any I've ever seen in all my years."

Ursula's brows narrow and she clenches her fists. "I have, once. Do you recall Maleficent's curse upon Aurora Rose?"

* * *

Mary Margaret curls closer to David, finding comfort in the security of his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Henry's head rests on her lap, his eyes gently closed, but his breathing uneven. She reaches out and rubs his head, trying to calm the frightened boy. It's a small, sad gathering, one of a close-knit family that's missing one of its key members.

_Emma_, Mary Margaret thinks, _wherever you are, please be OK._

She prays, hopes, wishes desperately, because she knows good has to play fair; good has to do the right thing in the end. _Does it _always_ conquer over the evil and the wicked?_

_I killed Cora because it was easy,_ Mary Margaret thinks, _but…it was a mistake. There were other paths, harder paths, and I wish I had taken them. Because that was good would have done; that was what I should have done. Instead, I darkened my own heart._

She knows now that she won't make a decision like that again.

And so she hopes, because even though Snow White isn't entirely sure that good always wins – even when it doesn't seem like it will – that sometimes all it takes is hope.

As those thoughts fill her mind, pulse of magic sweeps through the room, cloaking all three of the occupants in its brilliant veil, and as it does, synonymous with the rhythm of her own heart, Snow White swears she can feel the tiny spot of black in the organ lifting away like clouds after a storm.

The moist, dank atmosphere of the cell disappears only to be replaced with one of lightness.

Henry sits up, eyes shining. "He did it!" he shouts ecstatically, beaming, not caring that no one else will understand his words.

_This is the rainbow that appears when the skies seem to be a never-ending grey_, Mary Margaret thinks.

And now she _truly_ believes that yes, _good can win._

Because believing in the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.

* * *

Ruby uses a sword to cut away the boughs of great ferns blocking their path, the heavy weight of the weapon uncomfortable in hands she usually prefers to use to fight fist-to-fist. Victor follows  
behind, shrinking away from the plants that apparently appear to him as if they'll reach out and snatch him away. Ruby shakes her head and chuckles teasingly, realizing that if they ever get out of this mess, she's going to go right ahead and ask that doctor out.

(And kiss him)

(More than once)

Jefferson is third in the line, and although he gingerly touches his nose every so often and seems to quicken his pace whenever Neal gets too close, he's fairly calm. Neal is at the very back of the group, tense and wary as the group travels through the jungle of Isla Sirena. They'd set out not too long ago, after finding that Hook had escaped, and quickly figured out his destination.

Ruby stops mid-slash when a wave of power hits the group, tangling her hair. Her eyes flash gold and widen in shock, the sword almost falling from her fingers.

"What was that?" Neal asks, peering around to the front of the group.

Ruby turns stiffly, her face a grey mask, and looks at the others. Victor looks confused too, especially when he sees her shock. Her mouth falls open.

"Seriously!" Neal looks at the awed faces of everyone. "What was that?"

Jefferson reaches up and slowly takes off his hat, twisting it around in his hands. He finally speaks.

"True love."

* * *

The sirens lurk underwater near to the beach of Isla Sirena – the only place to dock – their tails gracefully swishing back and forth in the waves. They do not speak – unable to, for the most part, simply swim there and wait. In the distance, a ship is visible – one that should be familiar to all of them – or at least one in particular – but instead just a warning that they are not alone in this land.

When the magic washes over them, even flowing through the ocean itself, it's as if a curtain has been lifted in their minds.

Ariel flies out of the waves – for yes, it's Ariel now, the magic having broken their curse – and screams at the top of her lungs. It's a giddy, joyful sound, the pure delight of being able to speak, to sing without intending to kill, and to walk on land without every step being incomprehensible agony, yet unable to make a sound to express their pain.

Then the scream turns to a wail.

"_URSULA!_" Ariel shouts, her voice sounding out through all of the land – mermaids have tremendous vocal chords, after all.

And her sisters scream with her. They scream for vengeance, for justice.

_They scream for blood._

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin is back in his spot at the side of the ship, watching the jungles of Isla Sirena and wondering if he'll ever see his son – and his grandson – again. He'd returned from the cell the pirate captain and the saviour were in and found himself in just the same state as before – his dark self. And, yes, perhaps, Hook had forgiven him, but something is still preventing him from going back to his human form.

A burst of magic floods over him all of a sudden, it's purity almost blinding as it hits the man, and he feels his skin tickling, then tingling, then itching, then outright burning, it's scaly green-gold layers peeling away to reveal fresh, human skin underneath. His hair flattens back and his nails shorten, his teeth turn white again.

He's back to the pawnbroker and sometimes-magic-user now, but the remnants of his old self linger. Rumpelstiltskin will always stay with him, and the Dark One will always be a part of him. It took him a while to understand, because even after the coming of magic and reuniting with Belle, then subsequently losing her, then finding his son, there was still something missing.

Gold smiles softly and sadly. If only his curse had been broken centuries prior, preventing all the carnage he'd caused. If only he'd found a different way – a harder way, perhaps, but one not so chaotic – to prevent his son from being taken.

To prevent himself from killing his wife.

He feels a cool breeze brush over his shoulder, but this time it's no pulse of magic. Whisper-like touches grace his shoulders and arms, dancing across lightly, almost imperceptibly; a sign.

No, he thinks, it couldn't be.

But then; this is the land of the dead.

Perhaps miracles can happen, Gold thinks.

_I forgive you._

The words linger on the breeze before twirling away out of sight, although now permanently etched into his mind.

A single tear runs down his cheek. _Thank you, Milah._

* * *

Back in the cave, Killian leans back from placing a tender kiss on Emma's cold lips. He felt the ice that went through them, could sense the very life that was lacking from the woman he loves. _It didn't work_, he thinks. _Of course it didn't._

He starts to turn around, away from her still form, no longer wanting to see the sight, when there's a flood of something bright and whole and true and pure rushing through his body, tingling in his skin and pores. Light flashes before his eyes, a brilliant luminescence like the thousands of twinkling stars in Neverland.

A warm hand latches around Killian's arm and yanks him back around, only catching a glimpse of shining hazel eyes and a flash of blond hair before she captures his lips with hers. She grips his shoulders and yanks him closer, the two kneeling in front of each other, knees barely brushing as their lips move together tenderly, then more passionately as the two get deeper into the kiss.

Killian slowly finds his good hand coming up to touch her cheek and lightly caress the soft skin there, as if to confirm that this is happening, this is real, _Emma Swan is kissing him and she's alive and she's here and warm and __**Emma Swan is kissing him**__, Killian Jones, Captain Hook, the pirate and the scoundrel andoh bloody hell her lips are moist and her hair is silken and how can her skin feel so smooth and oh bloody hell._

Her hands travel down from his shoulders to his chest, slipping inside his black shirt, and it takes Killian a few moments before he finally finds the self-control to pull away, leaving both of them gasping for breath _because if either thought that kiss, that so-called mistake back on his ship left both wanting more, _this is practically incomparable.

It's the first time Captain Hook finds himself rendered speechless for a few moments, unable to say anything but stare at the beauty that is Emma Swan as she gazes back at him, hair tangled from lying on the floor, face flushed, eyes soft and sparkling. She beams at him, and Killian knows that even if he gave the earth and everything else to pay to see that smile every day, it would never be enough.

"Emma," he says gently, his hand still lingering on her cheek. "_Emma_."

Emma takes his good hand and helps him up from their sitting position. "You saved my life," she says, her voice whisper-soft, "_Killian._"

Killian tightens his hand around hers, lacing their fingers together, and does not speak. Emma turns and looks at the door to their cell and eyes it for a moment. She then looks back at him and leans forward to give him a light kiss. Killian attempts to deepen it but she pulls away before things can go further and gives him a look.

"Magic is emotion," Emma says, and looks at the door. She closes her eyes and concentrates, and this time the images come easily, those of her son and her parents but most often Killian – maybe she wasn't sure about her feelings before but he saved her with true love's kiss and that's enough for her to know for now.

A grin forms when Emma feels the magic coursing through her and the door to their cell swings open to bang against the cave wall; the resounding _clang_ of all the other cell doors opening sounding out at the same time.

Emma clenches her eyes more tightly and focuses her magic outwards, towards the barrier that hides the cave from visible sight. She feels four beings in the area, their signatures glowing like a beacon in her magic-radar.

_Ruby_, she thinks, sensing the feeling of wind rushing through fur and the smell of pine trees and dark winter nights. The next one is less distinguishable at first – metal and the crackle of electricity – but then; _right_, _Whale is Frankenstein_. Then there's the smooth, cool sensation of rich fabric running over skin, the click-clack of scissors and a hint of something plantlike – mushrooms, maybe, combined with some level of madness; madness that feels wild and free and joyful instead of confining and crippling. _Jefferson, for sure. _

Killian watches as Emma puts her magic to work, gazing at his true love with complete adoration and devotion.

_She's a marvel, _he thinks.

* * *

**A/N: ********Since I've been asked:**

**Rumpelstiltskin did nothing to help except give Killian the last thing he needed: An apology. And that made Killian fully realize that yes, if his sworn enemy could find redemption and true love, so could he. It gave him the belief he needed, which is the focus of this chapter.**

**I _believe_ in the power of positive suggestion: Reviews create happiness.**


	28. Fight For Me (Breathe Again)

**A/N: ****All the reviews I get make me smile. :)**

**You want more feels? You got 'em.  
**  
**Disclaimer: We've been over this.**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight:  
**Fight For Me (Breathe Again)

_Rescue me_

_Show me who I am_

_'Cause I can't believe_

_This is how the story ends_

**_Fight for me_**

_If it's not too late_

_Help me_**_ breathe again_**

_No, this can't be how the story ends_

* * *

Emma finally opens her eyes and nods. "I did it," she says, although a frown dashes across her lips for a split second. "Magic is weird."

Still in the lightness of the moment, Killian nods and laughs softly. "Some know it better than most," he agrees.

A shout sounds out from the corridor and Emma tightly grips Killian's hand as the two rush out. They're greeted with the sight of three figures running down the passageway from an open cell towards the two.

"Mom!" Henry screams, running towards his mother with joy evident on his face, a smile wider than the sun.

"Henry!" Emma cries as her son rushes up to her, swinging his arms around her waist as he envelopes her in a bone-crushing hug. She lets go of Killian's hand to lean down and hug him bath, both squeezing so tightly that they can't breathe, but much too happy to care.

Henry cracks open an eye and looks over Emma's shoulder at Killian, who stands there awkwardly. To the enormous surprise of Captain Hook, the boy reaches out and grabs Killian, pulling him forward and half-hugging him. "I know you'd do it," Henry says, grinning.

Killian looks awkward but ruffles the lad's hair affectionately, surprised by the stark reminder of Baelfire that is present in Henry's eyes. The three stay like that for a few moments, revelling in the joy of the occasion, until Emma reluctantly lets go of her son and turns to her parents, who were waiting for their daughter with blurred eyes.

Emma looks at Mary Margaret and David, her parents, two people that have always been there for her since they found each other, two people that would give the world for her if they had to.

"_Mom_," she says, tears brimming in her eyes as she steps forward, "_Dad_."

Mary Margaret lets out a half-choked sob as she wraps her arms around her daughter, David joining in on the hug as he hugs both of them. Emma's mother gently reaches up and rubs her daughter's head softly, as if she's still making sure that she's there. David eyes Killian as he embraces his daughter, having seen very clearly how the two had been holding hands moments before. "Are you sure it's not some glitch?" he asks in a fatherly tone.

Emma finds herself laughing as she steps back, and hooks her arm around Killian's, pulling him a little closer. The pirate in question tentatively smiles, unsure about all these surprising displays of affection – especially from Emma, who the last time he saw her was still in full denial of any feelings whatsoever. He glances over at her out of the corner of his eye and sure enough; there's that slight hint of stress and anxiety in her forehead, the stiffness of her shoulders.

_She's accepted that there's something, or…well, whatever this is,_ Killian thinks, _but not entirely._ Just her calling her parents mom and dad is a huge step forward.

Mary Margaret smiles at her daughter, tears glistening in her eyes. She was right all along. Henry comes up beside Emma and grabs her hand, looking up at her. Killian sees the boy's intentions. "We should probably leave as soon as possible, your majesties," he says with heaviness in his words.

David nods and his hand lingers on his belt for a moment, wishing he had his sword, but one of the sirens had taken it away when they first were captured. The group of five set out down the passageway, the only light the flickering of torches that line the walls, the glow soft against their faces.

As the group enters the cavern in which Calypso and Ursula typically resided they found it to be startlingly empty, the only sound the soft lapping of water against rock from the pool in the far corner. "They've gone," David remarks, surprised.

Killian shakes his head and glances over at the man that is the father of the woman who is apparently his true love (which is enough to frighten any person). "I have known Calypso for a good three hundred years," he says. "She's never one to flee from a battle. She's here."

"Indeed, Killian Jones, I am. You're finally learning," a voice sounds from behind the group and they all spin around to see Calypso and Ursula standing there. Emma shoves Henry behind her as soon as she lays eyes on the wicked-looking dagger Calypso holds. A ball of red magic forms in Ursula's hand as she grins malevolently, her hair as wild as if she'd been shocked by a thousand volts of electricity.

Killian reaches for the sword at his belt and unsheathes it. "Aye, _witch,_ that I am. What minions are you going to hide behind today?"

Calypso tilts her head to the side. "Oh, no '_minions',"_ she says, and in one grand gesture, lifts her arm up to the sky. Emma's ears fill with the sound of rushing water, like the ocean in a great storm and the crackle of electricity, and all of a sudden rock crabs burst forth from Calypso's robes, their numbers incomparable to those that carried Killian and Emma previously.

Killian narrows his eyes, and seeing a sword lying in the corner, tosses it to David, "Heads up, mate!" he says, and the prince catches it with ease, giving Killian quick nod.

Ursula readies her magic from behind Calypso as the goddess stands there with open hands, watching her crabs rush towards the group, and Emma frowns. She looks at Henry behind her and then at Mary Margaret. "Mom!" she yells, "Keep Henry safe! I have to do something."

Mary Margaret bobs her head and Henry ducks behind her, the boy being smart enough to abandon his reckless desire to be a hero in this situation and just staying out of the reach of the crabs.

_Z-zinng_ – there's a sharp ringing noise as a burst of purple sparks flies across the cave towards Emma, and Killian shoves her out of the way before deflecting it with a sword. This seems to be the signal for fighting to commence, and the crabs rush all at once at Mary Margaret and David, who hide Henry behind them. The two stand their ground as they face the onslaught, Calypso sliding around the side of the cave to face Killian. Her dress just barely brushes the edge of the tidal pool, it's waters staining the train.

Killian grits his teeth at the sight of the witch, his enemy for so many years. He looks at Emma beside him, who eyes Ursula and gives Killian a grin. "We'll each take one?" she asks, her laughter traced with fear.

Killian nods sharply and kisses her on the cheek. He tightens his grip on his cutlass and faces Calypso head-on, Emma at his back as she glares at Ursula.

Calypso looks at the sight of the family of fighters, then back at Killian. "You're foolish," she says. She twists her wrist and a streak of something bright shoots out of her fingers at him. Killian deflects it but is startled when the magic sends electricity shooting into his arm from the hilt of his weapon.

She follows it with three more bolts that he more or less repels, the pain in his arm growing. His only comfort is the knowledge that Emma has his back as she battles Ursula. The shrill _z-zinng_ of magic flying through the air sounds out through the cave as the two fight.

"What the bloody hell are you?" he snaps, less of a question and more of a statement.

Calypso smiles, "A goddess," she says.

* * *

Meanwhile, Emma stands her ground as she faces off with Ursula, the witch holding twin balls of magic in her hands. _No sword_, Emma thinks, _no other weapons, and fists are nothing against magic._

_Well_, she shrugs, _gotta fight fire with fire, I guess_.

Emma clenches her teeth and concentrates, feeling the spark of energy that signifies each of the other forms in the room. Mary Margaret and David, who are warding off streams of crabs that head for Henry – everyone's obvious weakness, her son – and Killian, her apparent true love, who stands at her back and she now knows she can trust absolutely. She looks up at Ursula with a hooded gaze, eyes burning.

"You're going down, witch," Emma growls, and feels the waves of power wash over her, magnified by the knowledge that her true love is there.

Ursula cackles. "Sorceress, dear," she corrects, and throws both balls of magic at her. When they bounce off an invisible shield and dissipate into the air, Emma grins. She lets her body relax and holds out a hand. _Killian_, she thinks. _Killian, Henry, Mary Margaret, David, Ruby, Neal, __**everyone**__._

The tiny ball of white magic that is forming in her hand grows with every person she thinks of, soon a pure cloud of light magic. Emma finds herself grinning, maybe the whole saviour thing is good for something after all, she thinks, and without further hesitation, winds her arm back and throws it at Ursula. "How do ya like that, witch?" she yells.

The magic Ursula holds disappears as she stares at the magic hurtling straight for her, terror in her eyes. Pure brilliance is reflected in her pupils as the thing nears, finally hitting her in the chest.

The cave explodes with light.

When everything clears all that is left of Ursula is a pile of dust and one of the many rings that adorned her fingers. Satisfied and not at all remorseful, Emma looks over at Mary Margaret and David. The two stare back at her with surprise, the crabs around them gone.

A gasp sounds from the back of the cave. Killian has Calypso in a choke hold on the ground, his hook digging into the skin of her neck as she gasps for breath - apparently this goddess is not very adept in hand-to-hand combat.

"You…will never..kill…me…" Calypso wheezes.

"I'm pretty damn sure I can," Killian replies, pressing his hook harder but no blood appearing.

A grimace-smile forms on Calypso's lips. "You…agreed…to take…the job. You –" she pauses to suck in air – "can be…controlled…_now_."

Killian loosens his grip in shock and Calypso takes that as the opportunity to strike. She raises a hand and twirls it, and beside the two, the waters of the pool start churning.

Emma screams and lunges forward as Calypso rolls towards the water, her hand in a vise around Killian's arm. The water reaches out like a claw and grasps the two, dragging them underwater.

"_Killian!_" Emma screams, starting to run forward. "_KILLIAN!_"

Mary Margaret grabs her daughter and holds her back. "Calypso is a _sea goddess!_" she yells at Emma. "All her power comes from the ocean. You can't beat her in that water!"

Emma struggles. "But…no…_Killian_..."

"HEY!" a shout rings from behind them where the entrance to the cave is, and Neal soon appears with Ruby and the others hot on his heels. "What's going on?" he shouts, appearing worried, although some relief showing when he sees Henry.

Emma looks at her ex in shock, unable to form words in the chaos, and it's David who speaks. "Calypso's taken Hook underwater," he explains quickly.

"Why?" Neal asks.

The answer comes not from the group, but the man that arrives in the cave entrance, walking with a slight limp and holding a cane. "Because he agreed to her bidding," Gold says calmly. "And once you agree to serve under the rule of Calypso, as a caretaker of the Locker, there's only one way to get out of it."

Ruby frowns. "What?"

"You have to cut out your heart," Mary Margaret's words are laced with solemnity, "and bind yourself to the job. For eternity."

Emma's eyes find her mother in shock. "What?" she says. "What the hell?"

Neal is surprised too, mouth wide open.

"Can't we do something?" Victor asks.

Mary Margaret looks over at the pool. "I don't think we can," she says sadly, watching the waters that appear calm on the outside.

Under the surface it's a different story entirely.

* * *

Killian struggles underwater as Calypso drags him deeper into the seemingly bottomless pool, splashing wildly. Bubbles of air escape his mouth and he looks up at the fading surface with wide eyes. He squirms in her grip, scrabbling for his sword, but then sees a glimmer of metal below him.

He's weaponless, defenceless, and with a sea goddess in the realm that she controls.

And he agreed to her bidding.

Killian looks over at Calypso, her dark hair gently flowing around her head in a halo as she raises a hand. The magic flowing from her encases him in some sort of bubble of air, but preventing any moment. The loose sleeves and skirt of her gown tangle around her legs, translucent in the water. They make the goddess seem like what she truly is – a goddess, ethereal and all powerful.

**_No one can help you now_**_,_ she whispers in his mind, and Killian starts at the sound. **_No one knows how to break your curse. And no one would ever help a pirate._**

Killian attempts to lunge for her. Calypso's magic holds him back, and she waves her other hand. A sharp force hits him in the head and Killian finds himself fading, eyes slowly fluttering closed.

His body floats limply in the water, looking lifeless and cold.

Looking dead.

* * *

Calypso reaches into the folds of her gown and pulls out the silver dagger, it's hilt glittering with stones. It shimmers in the water. She waves a hand, pulling Killian's body closer. Just then, there's the sound of shouting from above the surface, and a shadow falls over the water.

Calypso frowns and grabs Killian's body, then swims up to the surface.

* * *

Emma watches as Calypso rises from the water, Killian's unmoving body in her arm. She glares and her vision taints red. "_Get the hell away from him,_" Emma snarls, wriggling out of Mary Margaret's grip. She stalks towards Calypso, one hand raised.

Calypso shakes her head and grins. She looks at Killian body, then back at Emma. In a flash of movement, she whips an item from behind her back.

Then she plunges a knife into Killian's heart.

_No._

**_No._**

Emma presses her hands over her mouth and finds her knees weakening. Calypso tosses Killian's body to the side, onto the rocks, and stands there triumphantly.

_Who's screaming?_ Emma wonders, staring at Killian's body with unbelieving eyes. _Where's this coming from? _

The sound echoes all throughout the cave, full of anguish and despair. A sharp, keening wail forms in Emma's throat, and she realizes it –

_ – the scream is coming from her._

The rest of the party stand behind her in shock, eyes wide as they gaze at this incomprehensible sight – Killian, his dark red blood pooling out over the rocks, unmoving. Calypso, holding a knife that drips with the liquid, her dress stained as the blood seeps from his body onto the cave floor.

David reaches for his sword, and then stops – a weapon won't help now.

Mary Margaret pulls Henry to her and covers his eyes, consoling the boy as sobs escape from his shaking form. His mother stands a few feet forward, still kneeling, her eyes red-wracked with tears.

Ruby grabs Victor's hand. Her eyes flash. Jefferson stands beside them, expressionless.

Gold stares.

Neal steps forward, then back, fists clenched. He's in shock, and there's something flickering in his eyes – indecision, maybe. Confusion. Confliction. Astonishment. _Fear_.

Calypso watches the group, all these people appearing to be in shock, their eyes wide.

"Why would you do that?" Emma finally asks softly, voice broken.

Calypso looks at her bitterly. "The Locker needs a caretaker forever. The heart is the only way to ensure that."

A sob falls from Emma's lips, watching the lazy trickle of blood seep out of Killian's wound, stain his black clothes and trail down the jagged rocks. "Please…no…" she whispers, unable to form complete sentences.

"He's gone now," Calypso says, looking over at Killian's body with examining eyes. "Not even his true love can save him."

A tear drips onto the cold stone from Emma's eyes as she watches Calypso turn around and heads over to Killian, the knife poised in her hand to finish the job. She leans over his body and prepares to plunge it in again.

As she pulls back his shirt, there's a scuffling sound from behind; the scattering of rocks on stone, feet kicking up, and a gasp of pain, followed by the sharp intake of breath. Calypso whips around.

"Maybe Emma can't save him," Neal says, standing there with pain on his face. Calypso follows his eyes down to see Emma's hand protruding from his chest, gripping his heart, and her eyes widen.

"Maybe she can't save him," Neal repeats, face hard, eyes determined, "but I can."

* * *

**A/N: Hi there. **

***Grins manically***

**Would you like to give some reviews with your feels, M'am or Sir?**


	29. Now and All of Time

**Disclaimer: We've been over this.**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine:  
**Now and All of Time

I heard the bells in my head the second I saw you

And against my better judgement I began to adore you

Don't you see the way your hand fits so perfectly with mine

We were made to stand together by some great unknown design

For **now and all of time **

You will be mine

* * *

The first sound heard in the cave after Neal makes his declaration is a child's scream, emanating from Henry. Mary Margaret quickly grabs the boy before he runs over to his mother and Neal, holding him back_. I trust Emma_, she thinks. _I trust her to make the right decision._

"My son!" Gold is the next to cry out, stumbling forward. He drops his cane and lunges for the pair. It's only David's outstretched arm that holds him back as Neal's father struggles to reach his son, too distraught to use magic.

Neal shakes his head and bites back a wince of pain at the feeling of having a hand literally holding his heart. "I'm doing what I should have done before, Papa," he says. "Letting go of the past; making up for my mistakes."

Rumpelstiltskin stares at his son as Prince Charming keeps him from moving towards the two.

"I know it now – Emma and Hook are true loves," Neal states firmly, "and I _won't_ stand in the way of that," his next words are soft, "I won't let anyone get hurt again."

Gold slowly settles down as he hears the determination in Neal's tone. David loosens his grip, although the pawnbroker still looks shocked, but he no longer struggles.

"You're going to break the curse," Mary Margaret states, understanding. "The only way to break the vow…"

"…is for another to take the job," David finishes, recalling the story.

"Are you sure of this?" Gold finally asks, slowly coming to grips with the situation.

Neal nods seriously and looks at Emma, whose hand still grips his heart in his chest. Her gaze is steely. His eyes flicker back over to his father – Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, Mr Gold the pawnbroker –_**his **__**father**__. _"I'm sure," Neal says and grits his teeth at the pain. "This is what I want to do. This is my way of making up for my wrongs – Papa, surely you understand that."

_Perhaps,_ Gold thinks,_ he is right. _

Calypso watches the scene with curious eyes and a different outlook, ever since that wave of magic washed over her not too long ago. _I am not wicked,_ she thinks_, _making a decision_. I will_ **not**_ be wicked any more. If this is what the mortal wishes to do…I am none to stop it. Especially since…_

She does not interfere.

Neal looks at his son. "You're a great kid, Henry. I'm sorry we didn't have much time together."

Henry smiles sadly at his father and bites his lip. Mary Margaret rubs soothing circles on the boy's back.

Neal grins at Emma now. "I love you," he says, "and I'm sorry for what I did to you."

Emma's eyes soften. "I love you too, Neal. I'm not _in_ love with you, but I love you. And…" she nods firmly, assuring herself, and takes a deep breath before her next words. "I forgive you. Are you ready?"

Neal sucks in a deep breath. "Yeah," he says. "Do it."

In one swift moment, Emma tears Neal's heart out of his chest. He gasps in air, squeezing his eyes , and when he recovers, Emma holds out the heart to him. Neal takes it, gratefully, and stands up. He narrows his eyes and looks at Calypso with determination. Hand open, bright ruby red jewel glittering in the palm of his hand, Neal presents his heart to the sea goddess.

"I bind myself to Davy Jones' Locker," Neal pledges. "I vow to care for the souls for eternity."

Calypso steps forward, and bows her head. She takes the heart from Neal's hand and waves her hand. Neal's heart glows bright gold and the man gasps as heat floods over his chest for a split second, before subsiding. It reminds him of the flood of magic from true love's kiss – bright, burning, strong and pure.

_Irreversible_.

David glances over at Neal once the process is complete. The man no longer appears to be suffering the effects of having his heart bound to the Locker, but he does not look any different. "You're immortal now, right?" David finally asks.

"Yeah…" Neal replies slowly, confused. "I think so."

"So you can't be hurt – " David looks at Calypso for confirmation, and she nods, " – but you can feel pain?"

"Something like that, I guess," Neal replies, still confused. "Why?"

David steps forward, and in one swift movement, punches Neal right in the face. The man yelps. David steps back and crosses his arms as everyone else stares at him in bewilderment. Emma is surprised when Mary Margaret doesn't berate her husband, but she does nothing either.

"What was that for?!" Neal yells, rubbing his nose as he looks at the so-called Prince _Charming_.

"Sending my daughter to jail," David replies coolly.

In the background, Jefferson silently cheers.

* * *

Emma looks at Neal – he's about ready to leave, go to wherever the caretaker of the Locker resides or whatever. She doesn't really know. Neal looks up at her as she steps forward. "Yeah?" he asks. "Emma?"

Emma gulps. She slowly reaches out towards Neal and gently wraps her arms around him, hugging him. After a few moments of awkward silence, Neal tentatively returns the hug. It doesn't last long, but as soon as they break apart Henry grabs his dad around his waist and hugs him, before hopping back to Mary Margaret. "Bye Dad," he says quietly.

Emma's words follow her son's: "Goodbye, Neal."

"What should we tell Tamara?" Gold asks as Neal moves to stand beside Calypso, who has been waiting patiently all this time.

Neal just shakes his head and takes Calypso's hand. The last sight they see is the pair disappearing in a whirlwind of magic, and their fingers intertwining tightly. Calypso's face flickers, once, and Emma swears she can see a different person underneath the mask. She shakes her head –_ just my imagination._ Then Emma glances at Gold. _Did he see that?_ she wonders, curious.

His eyes give her the answer – _yes, he did_. The rest of the group are oblivious to their silent exchange.

Just then, there's a gasp from where Killian's body lies, and Emma starts, remembering the focus of the entire situation is bleeding to death over in the corner. Emma runs over to him and is startled to see his ocean blue eyes blinking open. Killian stares up at her as Emma cradles his head in her lap.

"Where's it hurt?" Emma asks hurriedly, running her hands over his chest in a frantic attempt to stop the blood flow by applying pressure.

Killian weakly reaches up and grabs her hand, halting her movements. Emma looks at him and sees him grinning.

"I'm okay, love," Killian says gently. "It closed as soon as Baelfire made the pact."

Emma's eyes widen and she looks at Killian's chest in shock – sure enough, where Calypso had stabbed him there is nothing but the remnants of dried blood. Emma laughs in surprise. "You're alive!" she cries.

Killian slowly sits up and pulls Emma closer to him, wrapping his arms firmly around her waist. The two stand up, still in each other's arms, gazes locked firmly on each other. They're utterly oblivious to the fact that they have an audience. Emma slowly leans forward and places a gentle kiss on his lips, sighing softly and closing her eyes as he kisses her back. Killian tighten his grip on her as Emma loops her arms around her neck, pressing her body flush against his as their lips gently move together, breath intermingling.

Killian smiles a little under her lips and cracks open an eye to see Mary Margaret quickly covers Henry's eyes to the sight of his mother passionately kissing Captain Hook. Henry knocks her hand away and beams. Mary Margaret gives up and looks gently at David, who has come to wrap an arm around her shoulder. The two lock hands as they hug Henry in between them.

Gold stands by Jefferson – his partner for goodness-knows-how-many-years - and watches the proceedings. The two laugh and shake their heads, the Hatter respectfully holding his hat n his hands.

Ruby takes the opportunity to grab Victor. She pulls him towards her and smashes her lips against his, kissing the hell out of the bewildered doctor. He's a little surprised, to say the least. But he doesn't pull away and eagerly kisses the wolf-girl back. _A werewolf and a doctor known for reanimating the dead_, Killian thinks. _Strange_ - but then,_ no, perhaps not much stranger than a pirate and a princess._

Killian closes his eyes again, amused at the sight, but now content to relax in the warmth and comfort of Emma's touch.

_This is all he needs right now._

Killian finally leans back from Emma's gentle lips and brings his hand up to touch her cheek. She looks up at him. "I love you," he says.

A smile traces the lips that had been on his moments before. "I love you too," Emma says, and this time, the words don't make her scared at all.

Killian chuckles and rests his forehead against hers, gazing into her eyes. "It's about bloody time," he says, and it's the most accurate statement of the day.

* * *

Emma stands on the deck of the Jolly Roger, gazing over the side of the ship at the ocean as the sun falls in the sky. She hears the tapping of a cane and Gold comes to stand beside her. "We're heading through the portal soon," he remarks.

Emma nods and looks at Henry's grandfather - Neal's father - out of the corner of her eye. Neal, being the new caretaker of the Locker and also acquainted with them, had given the entire group free passage out of the realm – after all, he ruled over it now. The other day, after leaving the cave, everyone had watched as all the souls wandering the oceans were lead onshore like a herd, guided by Neal, who had a prominent scar across his chest but a face that shone with some form of happiness - or peace, at least. _He travelled all his life from one realm to the next and finally has a permanent hom_e, Emma thinks. _Guess everyone found their happy endings here, in some way or another._

His hand was tightly gripping Calypso's as they walked, the two inseparable. Emma recalls this scene as she stands at the railing with Gold – Killian is at the helm directing the ship with help of Jefferson, the two laughing and joking. Apparently the hatter and the pirate got along rather well, when they weren't on opposites sides – which surprised her almost as much as the brotherly relationship Killian had with a certain mermaid…

* * *

"Where is Ursula?" a voice called out furiously. Emma and Killian slowly removed themselves from each other's arms – although still hold hands – as a young woman strode into the room, her red hair tumbling down her back in wild waves, accentuating the sharp lines of her cheekbones and chin. Her eyes were narrowed as she surveyed the room, finally coming to rest on the pile of dust that is Ursula's remains. She looked up and glared. "This is all that's left?"

Killian attempted a calming smile. "Ariel, sweetheart, Ursula is dead. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Ariel spun on her heel and stalked over to the pirate, her bare feet – _feet_, Emma observes, no tail – slapping against the wet stone. "Did our deal mean nothing, Killian, darling?" Ariel asked in an overly-sweet voice.

"Ariel –" Killian started.

"No!" The mermaid-turned-human raised a hand threateningly. "She's _dead_!"

"I'm sorry, but saving our hides was a little more important at the time than ensuring you got your vengeance," Killian replied firmly.

All of a sudden, Ariel stopped in her tracks. She stood there; white dress plastered to her legs, semi-translucent, and stared. And stared. Then her face transformed, and a quick, high-pitched giggle sounded out. "You think I'm angry!" she cried, a grin breaking across her face. "Angry because you got to kill her! Ha! Ursula's dead and I never have to see her ugly face again!"

Emma frowned. "Uh, you're not angry? Really?"

Ariel looks up and giggled again. "Not at all!"

She then glanced between Emma and Killian, back and forth, until her gaze found their interlocked hands. The grin grew, and she stepped forward, poking Killian in the chest with lightness in her eyes. "You got yourself a true love, didn't ya, Killian?" she squealed ecstatically.

Killian opened his mouth, but no sound came out. This only served to further egg the mermaid on. "Ha! You did! You did you did you did!" she shook her head. "What's your name?" this question was directed towards Emma.

"Emma…" Emma said. "And you must be…"

"Ariel!" Ariel finished. "Killian's friend!"

Emma heard David laugh under his breath at those words. She had to admit, it's a little weird for her too, but… "Nice to…meet you, I guess?" she said. "Uh, sorry for turning Ursula into calamari…"

Ariel shrugged. "No trouble at all, Emma! Now, Killian," she said this in a reprimanding tone. "Don't you owe me something?"

Killian looked confused.

Ariel rolled her eyes. "Silly pirate, as usual. A hug!" before he can react, she leaped forward and slung her arms around Killian's neck, pulling him tightly to her. The pirate was forced to let go of Emma's hand as he slowly hugged the mermaid back, and Emma can see joy in his eyes – relief that the girl is safe…

* * *

Emma's thoughts move back to present day as her first meeting with the infamous Ariel fades from her mind, replaced once again with those of Neal's departure with Calypso.

"Do you find it strange?" Emma asks the pawnbroker. "Her and him…_them_…you know."

Gold shakes his head. "Not as much as I did initially, Miss Swan. I've learned much on this voyage, and if there's anything to be said about people when in the Locker, is that they often hide behind a mask."

Emma laughs and gazes out to sea at the retreating Isla Sirena. The mermaids are in the shallows, waving and smiling at the group. Emma realized quickly after Ariel and Killian's reunion that there was a larger story there than she thought. The two have a history, and as far as

Emma knows, Ariel is probably the closest Killian has to a best friend.

"I don't know," Emma says. "I mean there was a resemblance and all – although I only met her once – but…never mind, _hell_, it's weird."

"Perhaps it is," Gold finally agrees. "But, you know, names happen of one of my specialities."

"And…?" Emma asks.

"Do you know the meaning of her name?" Gold asks questioningly.

Emma shakes her head, "Nope."

"Tamara means _goddess of rivers and streams_. It was the name of a deity," Gold explains. "Rather surprising, wouldn't you say?"

She laughs at the pawnbroker - it's a question that, when she first came to the Locker, she would have readily answered 'yes', to, but now - well, there's something to be said about the changes this land causes in a person. "I'm the 'Saviour', the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, my true love is Captain Hook – who is the son of Davy Jones - my godmother is a werewolf possibly dating Doctor Frankenstein, my son's father is the caretaker of said Locker and in a relationship with Calypso, and you, aka my son's grandfather, who used to work with the Mad Hatter, is Rumpelstiltskin."

Emma looks down at the crashing waves, then back at the Locker – the land that first seemed like a curse to end up in, now a blessing after finding love there – as it fades away in the distance, then shakes her head. "Believe me, Gold, nothing surprises me anymore."

* * *

**A/N: *Insert keyboard smash here* ****You wouldn't believe my shock when I learned the meaning of Tamara's name, because it fit so perfectly in which what I'd already planned. Tamara can also means 'palm tree', but according to my reference, in ancient Britain her name did mean what Gold said it was.**

**In case anyone didn't get that, Calypso and Tamara are the same person - however, Calypso was not aware of the fact until true love's kiss removed the curse that prevented her from knowing that. Much like the curse everyone in Storybrooke suffered from, except in reverse.**

**Thank you all for being amazing, beautiful readers!**

**Reviews are to me what Colin is to fangirls.**


	30. I Can Live Forever

**A/N: ****_Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting.  
_  
****Disclaimer: We've been over this.**  


**Chapter Thirty:  
**I Can Live Forever

_We are timeless, timeless_

_Everything we have, we have_

_Everything oh my love_

_You are, you are_

_The only thing that makes me feel like_

_**I can live forever**, forever_

_with you, my love_

_I want to hold on to all of the people I lost,_

_I want to keep them with me_

_we will never__ part_

* * *

A gentle breeze tosses her hair around her shoulders as Emma and Killian stroll down to the dock. Their hands are clenched tightly together, not in fear that the other will let go, like with their past relationships, but in joy that they'll never have to.

"I love you," Emma says, a little spontaneously. She's not sure about saying it – it's the first time since in Calypso's cave back in the Locker – but as soon as the words escape her mouth, she's glad. There's no fear there; no fear of rejection, because Emma knows that the man that fought for his love for three hundred years would never leave her behind.

"And I you, love," Killian replies softly, threading his fingers through hers. He looks at her with complete adoration and devotion in his eyes, as if she's the only thing he can see.

Emma smiles, the usual feeling of sappiness that would accompany this moment not at all unwelcome. It reminds her of a warm breeze on a summer day – at first she doesn't like it, because she's already so warm, but then she feels the caress of the wind on her face and it becomes calming instead. And that's what Killian's become – or at least, part of what he is to her – he's a comfort, because he's someone she can trust to stay by her side.

He may be a pirate, but he's also the pirate that's determined to fight for what he wants – _because a man that doesn't fight for what he wants deserves what he gets_. He'd whispered those words softly in her ear when they were back aboard the Jolly Roger, standing at the helm together. She'd questioned his motives – could a pirate _really_ love a princess? – and the answer was everything she needed.

Along with her son, her family and her friends, _Killian_ is everything she needs.

Five weeks had passed since they'd gotten back from the Locker. After working out problems, Mary Margaret and David made the decision – along with the input of the rest of the town – they'd stay in Storybrooke for now. The two moved into another house, leaving Emma behind in her apartment…so when a certain hook-handed pirate showed up on her doorstep, she was happy to let him stay for the night. But that night grew into two, then three, then a week, and then sort-of-forever.

She didn't mind.

The two reach the docks and Killian offers his hand to help Emma up the gangplank of the _Jolly Roger_. In typical Emma fashion, she slaps it away and stomps onboard herself, Killian laughing as he follows.

"I love you," he says again, coming up behind her as she leans against the rail, his breath hot against her ear. He wraps his arms around her waist, tucking her closer to him as his hook rests gently in her belt loop. "Have I told you before?"

Emma turns around, staying in his embrace, and faces him, "Not to sound sappy, but it sounds new every time I hear it," she says.

He kisses her, lightly, the taste of him still lingering on her lips when he pulls back. "I'm glad."

"Always nice to make an impression?" Emma quips, leaning in for another kiss.

Killian grins. "Well, lass, I believe I already have."

Emma knows that the old her would have already turned tail and ran at all this happiness – it would be too much for her, too much for the woman that was abandoned time and time again, the woman that couldn't walk in a city and see other couples in love without bitterly wondering how long _that_ would last. It would have been too much for the woman that never expected love, and, after a while, never thought she'd get it either.

Too much, even, for the so-called 'Saviour', because when her entire family came after her after being taken to a different realm, because even when she had her family there, there was _him_, the man that broke her heart, and that was a cold reminder that she wasn't worthy of love. Then he was the man that helped her fix her heart – because he gave Killian back to her, and Killian _is_ half of her heart. That, _all_ of that, would have been too much.

But it's exactly enough for now.

"Emma," Killian says, after a few moments of thoughtful silence. He reaches out and lifts her chin until their eyes meet, intense ocean blue against soft hazel. "There's something I need to ask you."

Emma smiles, softly, one of the half-smiles he was so accustomed to back when they first met – except now it's genuine, and before it was simply part of her heavily secured walls, a tight, thin-lipped reminder of exactly how broken she was. Now it reaches to her eyes, which have lost the heaviness they used to carry.

Killian smiles too, the edges of his mouth quirking up only slightly as one hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out something. He chuckles a little uncomfortably as he does so, moving back a foot. He scratches his neck with his hook awkwardly. "I know...I know this may seem like it's coming at the wrong time. This is new, and different, but – _Emma_ – I _love_ you. And I won't wait – I _can't_ wait like I did before, wait until your breath is fading from your body to realize it. So, uh," he chuckles again, still very nervously, and slowly opens his palm, "This is a symbol. Something that was once magical, full of hope, possibility. And now...now I look at it and – _dear Calypso_, I'm going to sound like a bloody fool – but I see _life_. _A_ life – one with you."

Emma looks down at the object in his palm. It's silver, simple, and small turquoise blue stone – _which she can't help but notice matches his eyes_ - sits in the center.

It's a ring.

"Killian," Emma begins –

"Quiet, Swan, I'm trying to have a moment," Killian says, shutting her up effectively, even as she tries to control a small laugh. "It's engraved with 'forever', according to the man I bought it from. Because – bloody hell, Swan, I'm not going to leave you, and not even death can stop me – even that's another adventure. So, Emma Ruth Swan, will you bloody marry me?"

Emma can't help but laugh a little bit at the absurdity of how Killian proposes – with lots of 'bloody' and atypical anxiety. It's so utterly like _him_ to propose like that, without his façade made of pirate charm and swagger. "_Killian_," she starts again, softly, but this time he is not the one to cut her off. A bright, blinding light bursts from the ring, and Killian drops it to the deck, shaking his hand like it burns.

"What the _bloody hell_ is that?" he yells, drawing his sword as purple smoke coils up out of the gem. A figure forms on the deck. Six black tentacles – no, not legs this time – ghastly white skin, long violet hair and piercing eyes.

"I killed you," Killian says, bewildered but defensive.

A sickly grin forms on Ursula's bloodred lips and she laughs, it's noise booming over the ship. "After your _shadow_ turned Neverland dark, it's become quite a habitable place for one such as me. Not all death is permanent, especially when someone has a contract to hold up."

"You sound just like that scheming crocodile, with his contracts and favours," Killian replies, gritting his teeth.

Her grin widens. "Oh, but I'm _so_ much better!"

Emma steps forward then, pulling her own sword out of its sheath and pointing it at the half-octopus woman. "You're nothing but a nasty sea b***h," she growls.

"What a mouth you have!" Ursula cackles maniacally, her deep voice resounding out over the ship. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

"You'll do nothing to my wife!" Killian growls angrily.

Emma whips her head around to look at Killian. He can't tell whether it is a look of shock or surprise on her face, and in the space of the moment, doesn't have time to dissect it further.

"She's not yours _yet_," Ursula says, laughing again. A pasty, long-fingered hand reaches out towards Emma, clawing, and her hand grasps around something unseen.

Emma's gaze is torn from Killian as her body arches up, spine contorting wildly. Ursula laughs, twisting her hand, and a bright ball of light floats out of Emma's mouth. The witch grabs it and the light winks out as Emma crumples to the deck of the ship, hitting her head on the railing with a loud _thunk_.

Killian stands there and can't move, the images playing out in front of him so reminiscent of when Rumpelstiltskin killed Milah as he watches Ursula remove this light from inside his love – except Emma is his _true_ love, and her life means more to him than even his own. Finally his feet work, regaining their strength, and he rushes over to Emma. He crouches down beside her and clutches her body to his chest, then wraps strong arms around her back, hoisting her up until she's lying in his arms. Emma shakes her head a little and blinks a few times, staring up at him.

Her mouth opens as if to speak, but no sound comes out.

"What have you _done_?" Killian asks angrily, glaring up at Ursula.

Ursula examines a elongated fingernail nonchalantly. "Just given you what you deserve."

Killian tilts his head, eyes narrowing. He helps Emma rest back against the railing and stands up. His voice is harsh when he next speaks. "Oh, is _that_ it? _This_ is what I bloody _deserve_?"

Emma reaches out towards the pirate captain, trying to get his attention, but she realizes quickly that he's reverted to Hook and won't be able to hear her anyway.

"I always hold up my end of a bargain. By going up against me, this is _exactly_ what you asked for," Ursula says with a mock-pitying smile. Before he can react, she disappears in a puff of smoke. The ring she appeared from makes a hollow sound as it hits the deck of the _Jolly Roge_r, and the witch's voice fades like an echo in his mind – _'this is what you asked for, asked for, asked for...'  
_

Killian stands there, staring, then turns to look at Emma. She's slumped against the railing, obviously still groggy from hitting her head, as her eyes are only half-open. "Emma," he says softly, his voice quiet from pain. Then louder, "_Emma,_" and he moves quickly to her side._  
_

Emma slowly opens her eyes fully. Her hand creeps up to her throat, clutching it. Her mouth opens; closes, as if she's straining to say something.

No sound escapes.

She touches her lips, gingerly. The feeling – it's not even the type of numb from having a cavity filled in – it's just like there was never anything to feel at all. Her mouth, her face, her throat, that all feels normal, but the feeling of _sound_, of life, is numb. _Gone_.

She's ashamed to say that she's ashamed of the fact that she can't talk.

Killian gently takes her fingers away – he understands this, understands her fear that this somehow changes his feelings for her.. He leans forward, pressing his mouth to hers. Emma clutches the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, grasping desperately for some feeling as she kisses him back, just as firmly. He cups her cheek with his good hand, fingers tracing patterns, and Emma finds herself gripping his shoulder for support. _I love her_, Killian thinks. _This changes nothing._

When they reluctantly part both have racing hearts. His hand still holds her, tenderly rubbing her skin, as the two sit there on the deck. "I don't care if you can't talk, Emma," Killian says firmly. "I _will_ find a way to fix this."

Emma's eyes meet his. She hates this, this feeling of invulnerability. Words were always what she's used to defend herself when literal strength doesn't help. Without them, she feels like all her walls have disappeared – not broken down, like they were when she fell in love, but simply taken away. It's no longer a shelter she can rely on.

She can't even tell him she loves him.

Sensing her distress, Killian speaks again. "It's just another adventure, love," he grins rakishly but kindly as he looks at Emma with affection.

It amazes her even now how loving he is compared to the man she first met; a man whose only thought was revenge and heart was almost devoid of goodness and love – but for a small spark. Then again, wasn't he always so strongly capable of love, just hidden under the guise of a villainous pirate captain? She knows now that Killian is more of a hero than he ever lets on.

"I promise you nothing can part us," Killian says firmly, and smirk on his face does little to give Emma further confidence as he leans forward and wraps hisarms around her. Killian holds her to him, and they stay that way, locked in each other's embrace as he finishes his sentence – "Not this, not even death itself."

And that, Emma knows, is the truth – because isn't that what the marriage vows say? The love of a pirate and a princess, the Savior and Captain Hook – it can never be destroyed.

_ Till death do we part.  
_

They're timeless, after all...


	31. Till Death Do We Part

**A/N: THANK YOU FOR BEARING WITH ME. I know that last chapter probably shocked you, but believe it or not, this was the plan from the very beginning - apologies, though, if there was any trauma!**

** A BIG THANK YOU TO ****_EVERY. SINGLE. READER._**

******I'd like to personally thank all of my regular reviewers:**Dreamingdreams _[Calamari!]_, ChamberlinofMusic, Lisa1972, PeaceHeather, 5289belle, Zerousy, AkiraStarfire, Snowanchester, True Love's Kis5, DoubleDee068, Maiqu, babyscardinal, TallyKayda, WhyDoThisToMeNow, missmandapanda, SpaztasticalMaiden13, and BarefootandStarryEyed**_._ I LOVE YOU GUYS, you are ALL wonderful beans. :)_  
_**

**There is NO sequel, that much is true. But m****ake sure to watch out for my next Captain Swan fic, **_100 Lives I've Lived, _******in which **_Killian Jones is a police officer sent to hunt down wanted criminal Emma Swan. But with each new place she escapes to and each new face she sees, she begins to realize that the man she's running from may the one she's destined to never leave. _******I'm trying my hand at writing angst [+romance&action].**

**Here we go. Enjoy this one, because I think you know what's coming. Oh, the cleverness of me!**

**Epilogue:  
**Till Death Do We Part

_You got something I need_

_In this world full of people there's one killing me_

_And if we only die once I wanna die with you_

_If we only die once I wanna die with - _

_If we only live once I wanna live with you_

* * *

Captain Hook's eyes snap wide open as he sits up in bed, startled. Sweat beads his forehead and chest, sticking strands of black hair to his forehead that he quickly brushes back, then rests his head in one hand. "What the bloody hell was that?" he mutters, shaking himself as if that will rid his mind of those awful images.

"Killian?" Emma mumbles from beside him in the bed, turning over to face him as she sleepily rubs her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, love," Killian responds. He shakes his head, "Just a bad dream."

He goes to turn away from her when a hand grabs his arm, and he feels Emma sitting up beside him. "Killian, that was no '_bad dream'_," she says firmly, looking at him with questioning hazel eyes. "What happened?"

Killian turns and looks at Emma, seeking out her gaze and the comfort of her touch. "You…" he swallows nervously. "You lost your voice. Ursula wasn't dead, and she came back and took it from you. Lass, I…"

Emma wraps her arms around him and leans her head against his shoulder. "It didn't happen," she says. "It was just a dream. I'm not going to lose my voice. Can you _imagine_ me if that happened?"

Killian chuckles, but then frowns as he recalls other aspects of the dream. He starts to move away from Emma. "I'm okay, love," he says as she stares at him curiously. "Really, there's nothing else bothering me." He presses a light kiss to her lips for reassurance as he lies back down.

Emma shakes her head at him, staring from above, her figure a slim silhouette in the light from the window. "_Killian_…"

"_Emma_…."

"_Seriously_. What's wrong?"

Killian clenches his pillow with his good hand, eyeing his hook on the dresser. Beside it is an innocent-looking paper bag. The bag itself is, indeed, innocent. _Inside, however…no,_ Killian thinks_, it's too soon, she'll run_. "Nothing, lass," Killian repeats. "Go back to sleep."

"No."

"No?" Killian rolls over to face her. "What do you mean?"

"No, I'm not going to sleep until you tell me what else is bothering you," Emma crosses her arms defiantly.

Killian sucks in a breath. _I have to_, he thinks, _no going back now. _His eyes flicker over to the paper bag on the dresser. "Aye," he says. "Okay."  
Killian sits up and reaches over to the nightstand. His hook glimmers in the moonlight that falls in gentle strands through the window, and he moves his hand past it, instead reaching into the paper bag. He turns and looks at Emma.

"Emma," Killian says, looking at the woman sitting beside him. "There's something I need to ask you."

Emma narrows her eyes, confused, but smiles quickly and nods. "Yeah?"

Killian smiles too, the edges of his mouth quirking up only slightly as he fingers the small object in the palm of his hand. "I know...I know this may seem like it's coming at the wrong time. This is new, and different, but – _Emma_ – I _love_ you. And…my dream showed me exactly what I've done wrong; waited until the breath or the sound was fading from your body," he chuckles again, still very nervously. _I sound like my bloody dream_, he thinks. But he continues – and, since he did it right in the 'bad dream', repeats his own words. "This is a symbol. Something that was once magical, full of hope, possibility. And now...now I look at and I see _life_. _A_ life – one with you."

Killian opens his palm, slowly, and holds the object up. Emma looks at it – silver, simple, and small turquoise blue stone – _which she can't help but notice matches his eyes_ - sits in the center.

It's a ring.

"Killian," Emma begins – _When does Ursula appear, exactly?_ Killian wonders.

"Quiet, Swan, I'm trying to have a moment," Killian repeats, shutting her up effectively. "It's engraved with 'forever'.. Because – bloody hell, Swan, I'm not going to leave you, and not even death can stop me. So, Emma Ruth Swan, will you bloody marry me?"

Emma looks at Killian with wide, caring eyes, her gaze so full of love that he can hardly believe that this is Emma Swan – the same Emma Swan that was so scared of him, she left him behind on a beanstalk. She smiles, gently, and reaches out to touch Killian's shoulder. "Yes," Emma says finally. "I'll marry you."

Killian's jaw drops a little bit. "You…you will?"

Emma laughs quietly and shakes her head. "Yes, _Killian_ _Jones_, I'll _marry_ you."

"Emma, lass…" Killian begins – Emma cuts him off by her lips forming over his, an excellent way of halting any further conversation.

"I found the bag a week ago," Emma says against his lips, gently pressing Killian back down onto the bed, "Kinda easy to put the pieces together."

Killian reaches up and runs his hands through her blond tresses. "You knew?" he asks, leaning back for a moment.

Emma nods.

Killian raises an eyebrow. "Really, lass? Yet you made me blubber through that entire proposal?"

She kisses him again. "Shut up."

Killian responds eagerly to Emma's lips. As he kisses her, he can't help but think that maybe there was one thing his nightmare got right, and it wasn't just the words for his proposal – they will always find each other, they will always choose each other.

And not even Calypso, not even Ursula, can tear them apart.

_You've done well, son_, a voice rings in his mind, startling the pirate, but he quickly recovers. _I've watched over you for a long time, and I'm proud of you._

_...But how? You're... _Killian doesn't want to say the words, but:_ ...you're dead._

_ Do you remember what I told you on our first and last day together?_

Killian racks his mind, and finally the answer comes to light. _Never say goodbye, _he answers_, because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting._

_ I won't forget you, son, _Davy Jones says.

_ I'll miss you_, Killian responds._ I always have._

It feels as if his father is smiling, a warm glow in his mind._ I'll miss you as well. But I'm never truly gone._

_ Will I see you again? _Killian asks.

He gets no response, and for a moment Killian fears his father has left. Then -_ Killian?_

_ Aye?_

His father laughs.

_Keep a weather eye on the horizon._

**THE END**


End file.
